


Number Six Privet Drive

by PegasusDragon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Hogwarts, Multi, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-20 23:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13728429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PegasusDragon/pseuds/PegasusDragon
Summary: We all know what magic goes on behind the door of Number four Privet Drive, but what about number six? With Merlin as Harry's neighbour and a few years older than him, how will it change the adventure we all know and love? So find out what happens with the Merlin gang reincarnated and at Hogwarts!(Will eventually contain Merthur and probably stick to cannon with other ships)





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Mr and Mrs King, of number six, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.

Cenred King was not a very pleasant man, and his wife Morgause was even worse. They were not the sort of people you would entrust with taking care of a child, and yet they had one. Well, two, technically, but they hardly counted Merlin as _their_ child. No, they had their precious Mordred to dote on; Merlin was more like the help. And had been treated as such since he was of an age where he was able to fetch and carry.

You see, Merlin was not their son. No, he was the son of Cenred’s older brother, Balinor, and his whore wife. Freaks, the pair of them, according to Cenred, just like the rest of his family. And they had both died and that pointless war, just like the rest of his family, leaving him to care for some snotty-nosed child instead of focusing all of his attention on his beloved Mordred.

Cenred was born a squib into a wizard family, and while his brother, the _golden son_ , had gone off to some magic school, he had gone to high school. He had been normal, and he was very proud of that fact. So the second he turned eighteen he left that _freak show_ and took his muggle mother’s maiden name, determined to make a life for himself outside of the madness that was his family.

That had been the plan, and it had been going exceptionally well, until his brother had up and died and left him with that _brat_.

Cenred had known from the moment he’d laid eyes on the boy, three years old with those giant ears and watery eyes, that he would be just like his father. Magical. And a plague to him and his family. He didn’t want his wonderful wife and his darling boy to be corrupted by the likes of _that_. No, but the woman had insisted . . .

 _“You’re the only family the child has left,”_ _she said to him firmly, “sending a child like him into the care system is a recipe for disaster, you must take him in.” She had her hair tied in a strict bun and a look on her face that said she wasn’t used to being told no. She pushed her glasses up her nose and her lips thinned when he remained silent. “Mr Emrys -”_

_“King.” He had corrected quickly with a snarl. “Mr King.”_

_She sighed exasperatedly at him but complied anyway. “Mr King, the boy is your nephew; he has no one else left in the world that might care for him. Please, consider this.”_

_He looked down at the boy in question, who had been staring at the two adults arguing with wide, watery, blue eyes. He had a look of confusion on his face, like he didn’t understand why his parents had gone, or why the woman was trying to leave him with a man who clearly didn’t want him. He looked scared, terrified really, and that was what sealed the deal in Cenred’s mind._

_This was his chance. His chance to pay back his brother and father for always making his feel like the outsider. He’d take in the brat and he’d teach him what it meant to live on the outside. He would make the boy regret the day he ever saw Cenred’s face._

_Cenred had smiled viciously and accepted the boy. The woman seemed satisfied and the boy seemed scared. Good, he had thought savagely._

A part of Cenred regretted his decision, while yes, it was fun making his brother’s brat squirm, the magic was becoming a real nuisance. He had wanted magic out of his life for good, and in one revenge-driven moment he had forgotten that fact in favour of punishing his dead brother.

So when the letter came he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or furious.

Yes, Mr and Mrs King, of number six, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Their nephew, however . . . not so much.

* * *

Merlin had composed himself a few rules throughout his life. They had developed slowly over the years and they varied in importance. But all of them were key to his life with his uncle, aunt and cousin.

Number one: don’t rise to Mordred’s bait. This probably was the most important rule he had. It was also one of the first rules he learnt. His cousin was three years younger than him, but that didn’t stop him from being a bully. Oh no, Mordred was just as skinny and awkward as Merlin was, it wasn’t like he was tougher or anything like that, but it was _his_ house and _his_ family, so Merlin was the weaker one in every situation. That meant that when Mordred said something that might rile Merlin up, he wasn’t to react to it. It would only end in disaster.

The first time Merlin recalled when he should’ve used his rule was when he was seven years old. They were supposed to be going out to have a family dinner. So Morgause had worn a nice dress and her golden hair was done up in a classy way. Cenred was in a suit and Mordred had some new clothes that his mother had bought him earlier that week for the occasion. Merlin had been excited to go, usually they didn’t like to take him places, but Mordred had said to him it was a _family_ dinner, of course he was going. So Merlin had worn his nicest clothes (they really weren’t that nice) and bounded down the stairs with a beaming grin on his face. Morgause had laughed when he told her that he thought he was going with them. Mordred had then said, in front of them all, _“It’s a_ family _dinner, Merlin, of course you aren’t coming.”_ Merlin had cried and wailed until the lights in the house started flickering. The result of Merlin’s mistake led on to the making of his second rule.

Number two: always duck. Now this rule didn’t have 100% efficiency. Sometimes it wasn’t an arm swinging at him that he could duck under, but a foot instead, nonetheless it worked in most cases.

Merlin had always been a clumsy person. He dropped, spilt and broke a lot of things. None of it was ever on purpose but it always came with repercussions. If it was in front of Morgause it was more likely to be a slap across his cheek for whatever he did wrong. If it was Cenred then he would use whatever body part closest to Merlin, whether that be a fist to the stomach, and elbow to the ribs or a kick up the backside. Merlin tried to duck or dodge when he could, but his fighting reflexes were never any good. The only time Merlin would abandon is second rule was if Cenred was drunk. He had learned that in that case it was better to just curl up and take it, dodging only made him angrier.

Number three: always apologise. This was another important rule. If rule number three worked then it could sometimes negate the necessity of rule number two. Anything that makes anyone look angry, apologise for it, even if you aren’t sure what you did wrong. It didn’t always work for Merlin but it had enough of a success rate to be worth making it to the list of rules.

Number four: don’t get caught talking to Harry. Merlin wasn’t really sure why this needed to be a rule. He had no idea why Cenred and Mr Dursley both hated the idea of them talking to each other but they did.

Harry was two years younger than Merlin but they were very similar. Both of them were orphans dumped onto abusive relatives. But Merlin, at least, had some memory of his Mum and Dad, Harry wasn’t as lucky. From what Merlin could tell, Harry wasn’t physically hurt by his uncle and aunt, but there were bullies at school who were mean to him. They went to the same school, but neither could look to the other as a friend there, they both knew that their cousins could report back to their homes and they would both be landed in trouble. Merlin hated that the one boy who might understand him was kept away from him, but he rarely had the courage to go against his uncle’s rule and talk to Harry. They were almost always caught. And afterwards his uncle may as well have been drunk by the way he acted towards Merlin.

There were many more rules, but those were the most important four, those were the ones that kept Merlin relatively unharmed from day to day.

And so, when a new day began, he had all of his rules in his head, ready to put into practice should the need arise. And of course it did. It always did.

He was just bringing Cenred his beer in the early afternoon, nothing unusual. Except that there was a bright, white snowy owl sat on their fence outside. Merlin was foolish and easily distracted, so upon seeing this owl he stopped looking where he was walking, and walked straight into Cenred’s back, sloshing beer over both of them. Merlin realised his mistake right away.

“I’m sorry!” he cried instantly (rule no. three). He ran to get a cloth to mop up the mess on the floor, immediately forgetting about the spillage on his own clothes. “I’ll clean it up right away,” he would have tried to mop up Cenred too if it wasn’t for another one of his rules that he’d learnt the hard way, never touch Cenred (rule no. fourteen). “I’ll clean it all, I’m sor-”

This was when Cenred kicked Merlin in the ribs, as he was crouched over, trying to clean. He grunted at the pain but knew better than to complain (rule no. nine). “Useless boy,” Cenred muttered, as he aimed another harsh kick to the stomach. Merlin cried out at that one, but he made sure no words were spoken other than a litany of ‘I’m sorry’s.

“Really, Merlin, can’t you do anything?” Mordred goaded. Merlin took a deep breath before remaining quiet and carrying on with his task. The deep breath was both to help him ignore Mordred (rule no. one) and help him breathe through the pain in his chest and stomach.

 _Some eleventh birthday_ , Merlin thought, bitterly. He didn’t know why he’d expected any differently. And besides, any attention he would get from his ‘family’ for his birthday wouldn’t be positive attention. It was better for the day to be ignored and treated like any other; it was hardly like anything important would happen today.

“Finish cleaning this up and then go get the post,” Cenred ordered. “See if you can manage that, at least, without making a mess of everything.” Mordred snorted and Morgause smirked at his expense as Cenred left to change out of his ruined clothes.

He went to the front door to collect the small gathering of letters that were there, ignoring his own beer stained clothes. When he looked back up to see the pretty owl again, it had already flown off. It looked like the usual set of bills, all in plain white envelopes, all addressed to Cenred, all except one. It was heavier than the others, and a brownish-yellow colour, rather than white. The most shocking thing, however, was that it was addressed to _him_.

_Mr M. Emrys,_

_The attic bedroom,_

_6, Privet Drive,_

_Little Whinging,_

_Surrey._

How on earth did the sender know which bedroom he used? When he turned the letter over there was an insignia of a lion, snake, an eagle and a badger all surrounding the letter ‘H’, and a name, _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_. Finally it was topped off with a red wax seal of the same letter ‘H’.

He moved slowly back into the living room, careful to watch where he was going, but still mesmerised by his very first letter.

It was finally happening! He was finally going to go away and learn magic! Just like his parents had done! Merlin had very few memories before the night his parents died, but almost all of them involved two kind looking people talking or laughing with him and waving around sticks. Eventually Merlin had done enough accidental magic to realise what it all was, and that his parents must have had wands. He couldn’t wait to get his own and start learning properly. This was it! It was time!

That was why when he walked into the living room it was with a beaming smile on his face, all eyes turned to him. Mordred and Morgause looked uneasily at each other, wondering what could have caused such happiness in the boy whose life the tried there hardest to make miserable. Cenred, however, knew exactly what was going on. He had seen that envelop before, and, at one delusional point in his life, even wished for it. Merlin was going to Hogwarts. He would finally be rid of the brat for most of the year.

“Off to your magic school then?” Cenred asked casually, pulling a jumper over his head.

Merlin jumped at the voice, off in a world of his own, he’d forgotten where he was. The bright smile that had been on his face melted off entirely. He knew his uncle hated his magic, so how on earth could he sound so calm about Merlin’s acceptance letter? Merlin swallowed nervously and answered, “Yes, sir.”

Cenred grunted and nodded. “So when are they showing up to take you for your supplies, ‘cause none of us can or will?”

Merlin still had wide frightened eyes. He was waiting for the penny to drop, to be told he wasn’t allowed to go or that now once he started school he wasn’t even welcome in the summer. He wasn’t expecting genuine questions. “I- I um, I don’t know, sir,” he responded quietly, “I haven’t opened it yet.” Cenred glowered at him, “Sir!” he added hastily. “I haven’t opened it yet, _sir_.”

He nodded stiffly, “Well then,” he said stoically, “tell us before one of those freaks actually show up, I don’t want to be caught unawares.”

“Yes, sir,” Merlin whispered quietly before he turned and walked upstairs to his room, he knew a dismissal when he heard one.

As he ascended to the attic his mind ran over the conversation that just happened. That was not at all the reaction he had been expecting. For the first time he could remember, Cenred had been calm and reasonable in the face of magic. It was almost unthinkable. Even from the attic he could now hear Cenred’s low tone arguing with Morgause’s shrill one. It was rare to even hear them argue; usually they were both as bad as each other, so no argument needed. But now, it almost seemed as though Cenred was fighting his corner. How bizarre. If that was happening then magic really must exist.

And speaking of magic, Merlin finally opened his letter.

* * *

He was terrified. One of the Hogwarts professors was going to show up any minute and Cenred was already in a bad mood. After Merlin had told him what day the professor was supposed to arrive his mood just steadily got worse and worse throughout the week. Now they were coming and he didn’t know what to do.

“What do you think you’re doing, waiting by the door?” Cenred snapped at him. Had he forgotten? Oh no, if he had forgotten then his reaction was just going to be ten times worse than Merlin had prepared himself for.

“Th- the professor’s supposed t- to arrive soon,” he stuttered nervously.

“Right,” he said simply, with narrowed eyes. He turned around and walked into the living room, ignoring Merlin for now.

He breathed a silent sigh of relief. When it came to magic, Cenred was usually irrational and angry with even the slightest mention, this sudden flip in behaviour, from madness to indifference, was really confusing him. Merlin wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or on edge; as if this was the build up to the big explosion.

There was no point trying to figure out what was going on in Cenred’s brain, Merlin had been trying for years with absolutely no success. Just when he thought he knew how vile and vicious his uncle really was, something would happen to surprise him (however in most cases they were rarely _good_ surprises, which was what made this particular case so odd).

That was when the knock came.

Merlin jumped up so fast that one would think he had been kicked up the backside. He hadn’t (for a change). He just stood there staring in shock at the door for a few moments - this was it, he was finally going to meet someone else who had magic, for the first time since he was left with his uncle, it’s not as if there was anyone else in Little Whinging who could ever have magic, and he couldn’t wait - and then realised it would probably be polite to actually _answer_ the door instead of staring at as if it would open by magic (he couldn’t wait until he could actually do that with magic!).

Standing in the doorway was a tall woman with greying hair tied back into an elegant bun. She had a very stiff posture and had her hands clasped neatly in front of her. She had on square glasses and weird-looking, green sort of dress (robes maybe?). Either way, it was obvious that she was a strict woman and not someone to be trifled with.

“Hello,” he said timidly.

What had been a blank expression lifted into a kind smile as she said, “Hello, Mr Emrys, I presume?” The smile complete changed her appearance. As before she looked like a stern professor, she then changed into a caring mother-figure. Just from a smile.

“Y- Yes,” he answered. “Come in,” he added hurriedly, he didn’t want to make a bad first impression.

“Thank you,” she said as she stepped over the threshold. “Are your uncle and aunt here?”

“They . . . They’re in the living room,” he answered reluctantly, he didn’t want any of them to ruin this for him. “First door on your left,” he directed, and she walked ahead.

When he followed into the living room, it was an awkward sight that greeted him. Mordred was sat on the settee, starring, with a biscuit in his hand which was half way between the packet and his agape mouth. Morgause was sneering at the lady, probably on account of her wardrobe mostly. And Cenred was staring directly at the television, pretending as if there wasn’t a single other person in the room. The professor took in all of these varying reactions rather calmly, her only visible response being the arching of a single eyebrow.

“Right,” she said, snapping Mordred out of his shock and forcing an obviously fake smile onto Morgause’s face. She turned to Cenred, “Pleasure to see you again Mr _King_.” Merlin had no idea why she put emphasis on his surname, but he did notice that her voice as dripping with sarcasm.

The direct address finally forced Cenred to acknowledge her presence in his house. He scowled. “Professor McGonagall,” he nodded casually in her direction. The shock that he remembered her name was clear to see on Professor McGonagall’s face.

“You’ve met before?” Merlin asked in confusion. He knew his uncle used to be part of a wizarding family, but he was still surprised that he hadn’t eradicated any memory he had of it.

“Yes, I remember the woman who ruined my life,” Cenred said coolly. McGonagall looked as if she was about to protest, but before she could say anything Cenred cut across her. “She’s the one who brought you here,” he told Merlin.

The boy looked down and just nodded stiffly. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before. Usually Cenred was drunk before he started spouting about how Merlin was the worst thing to ever happen to his family, how all he had wanted was a normal life and that thanks to him it was all ruined. He was six years old when he was first told that nobody wanted him there. So hearing this now was not a surprise to Merlin, nor was it a big deal.

McGonagall couldn’t believe it. Here was this little boy, who had been his parents’ pride and joy, being told he was a burden and not wanted. And the worst part was that he accepted it like it was nothing. She, too, was now starting to regret the day she ever brought Merlin to live with this man.

She could still remember now how shocked and relieved Balinor and Hunith were to have their little boy. They had been almost certain that they couldn’t conceive and had even looked into some muggle methods where magic had failed them. And after four years of trying they were shocked to finally find Hunith pregnant, no matter how scared they were with the war starting.

She had even met Merlin once or twice when he was small. He had always been a boisterous child, very loud but very happy. He had always been laughing back then. She wondered what had happened to that beaming grin that she remembered from all those years ago. And she hoped it wasn’t gone forever.

Merlin noticed the professor staring at him. Had he done something wrong? She looked very upset; whatever it was he had done it must have been bad for her to look close to tears like that. “I’m sorry,” he apologised to her quickly as he looked down shamefully. “Whatever I did, I didn’t mean to.” She hadn’t even been there for ten minutes and he had already mucked everything up. It was no wonder that Cenred hated him.

Her eyes widened comically at his apology. Oh dear, had he done something else wrong now, too?

Minerva had never been so heartbroken. In what way had he been treated here if he was mistaking her pity for blame? It was as if the boy had never encountered the emotion before.

“Shall we get this over and done with then?” Cenred asked, acting oblivious to the furious gaze McGonagall was shooting him. “I’d rather have this finished quickly,” he told her, “you’re interrupting our afternoon.”

“Right,” she said her voice carefully controlled, keeping her anger in check. It would not do to turn the man into the pig he acted like. As she sat on the settee she swiped her skirt from underneath her and placed her hands, folded, on her lap. Even while sitting, her posture was ram-rod straight.

“Well in most cases with a half blood wizard there would be no need for a member of faculty to make a visit. However, this is an extreme case, since you’re left with relatives with _no magical talent_ ,” she glared at Cenred as she said this, well aware of his childhood wish to have gone to Hogwarts with his brother. The man clenched his fists subconsciously and she smirked. She turned back to Merlin, “I will be apperating us to Diagon Alley, where you can buy your school supplies and even a pet, if you wish,” she said with a small (and hopefully reassuring) smile.

As soon as she had mentioned school supplies the boy’s face had lit up. He looked so excited at the prospect of getting ready for Hogwarts. She finally saw a true glimpse of Balinor and Hunith’s boy, behind all the fear and trepidation.

“That all sounds amazing,” he said breathlessly. “But, I . . . I don’t have any money to spend. And I couldn’t ask my uncle to -”

“Damn right you couldn’t” Cenred interrupted. “You’ll not get a dime off me.”

“Well then it’s a good thing that he won’t be _needing_ your money, isn’t it, Mr King.”

“I- I won’t?” Merlin asked hesitantly, not quite believing her.

“No,” she said resolutely. “Both your grandparents and parents died in the war,” she said, pretending not to notice his wince at the mention, “With your uncle making no claim to any of the wizarding money, you are the sole inheritor. As most pureblood families are rather wealthy and your grandfather was from an old line, you have a small fortune to your name.”

Merlin gaped, no way was this true. All this time he had been given old clothes and next to nothing, when in reality he had the inheritance money from a wealthy family that he could have been spending. It was almost impossible to believe. “Oh,” he summed up eloquently.

“Yes, ‘oh’.” She got up and dusted off her skirt. “I’m assuming none of you would like to join us?” she directed towards the Kings. “No? Well, goodbye then,” she said, before receiving any sort of answer.

As she moved towards Merlin to grab his hand and apperate them, she noticed his entire body tense as he flinched away from her touch.

And it was in that singular moment that Minerva McGonagall regretted the day she ever saw the face of Cenred King.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Diagon Alley, Merlin decided, was incredible! It was so colourful and loud. All the window displays were bright and even _moving_ sometimes. And best of all, it was full of magic. He was just surrounded by people like him, and it was brilliant.

The expression on his face must have been something stupid because he heard professor McGonagall chuckle from next to him. He shut his mouth quickly, realising that he had been gawping at it all.

“It’s quite impressive isn’t it?” she asked good-naturedly. All he could do was nod dumbly, there were no words that could describe the wonder he was seeing. “Well if this is your reaction to Diagon Alley, I can’t wait to see your reaction to Hogwarts itself.”

“It can’t be better than this,” he said with certainty, “it’s not possible.”

She didn’t say anything in reply so he went back to staring wide-eyed at anything magical. Things as simple as people walking around carrying their wands as if it wasn’t anything to be shameful of was enough for Merlin to marvel at. But there was so much here, a whole other world that he could have already been a part of - _should_ have already been a part of.

“Come on,” she said startling him out of his thoughts, “we’ve looked around enough, we need to start shopping. I believe if I wait for you to finish gawking before we get started then we’ll be here all day, and night, probably.”

“Well I wouldn’t mind staying here forever, it’s far better than home!” he said in excitement. Far too excited to notice flash of guilt and pity that crossed McGonagall’s face.

“Come on then.” She walked briskly, almost too fast for his little legs to keep up (but Merlin wasn’t _short_ for his age, she was just _very_ tall). 

The first place she headed was very white. White and Gold. It was all very clean and looked to be made mostly out of marble. He looked up before they walked in and checked the sign, it said, _Gringotts Bank_. Merlin was a little nervous to go inside. It all looked too fancy for him. There was even a poem there on display.

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_  
Of what awaits the sin of greed  
For those who take, but do not earn  
Must pay most dearly in their turn  
So if you seek beneath our floors  
A treasure that was never yours  
Thief, you have been warned, beware  
Of finding more than treasure there.

Well, it was a very threatening poem, but a poem nonetheless. And the kind of place that had a poem instead of a sign that warned they had CCTV was far too posh for Merlin with his raggedy clothes and scuffed up trainers. That warning was made for people who looked like him, who looked like they were poor and delinquents. He didn’t belong in there.

“What are you dallying for?” she asked, clearly not pleased with his wasting time. Merlin made a mental reminder to never be late to any of her lessons once he actually started the school.

“I . . .” he hesitated. It was stupid, wasn’t it? Surely they wouldn’t mind his scruffy clothes. And besides, if he wanted to get himself some better ones then he would have to get the money, and that meant entering the bank. “Nothing,” he said with conviction. And then he marched on confidently behind her.

She raised an eyebrow and the sudden attitude change but said nothing to him.

From the moment he first opened the door to let her in back at Number Six Privet Drive, he felt like he was being constantly observed, and this was no different. It seemed like she was measuring him up, testing to see what he’s like, what he’ll be like to teach. He didn’t like it. It felt like Cenred all over again, testing is boundaries, seeing how he reacts, what he does. And while she didn’t actively test him to force reactions out, the observation was similar enough to make him feel on-edge.

He refused to let that show, however. No, he would keep his head held high and pretend that not a single thing about this bothered him.

It was after his concrete decision that Merlin noticed the creatures behind the counters. They had beady eyes that all seemed to follow him as he walked about the room. Their noses were long and hooked and they had pointy ears that stuck out rather obviously. It was rather difficult to convince himself that it wasn’t him they were looking at, and if the professor thought that there was anything strange going on then she didn’t show it.

“They’re goblin’s,” she said under her breath, quite enough to not be overheard but loud enough for him to hear her clearly. “And they do not appreciate staring, either,” she added in warning.

By this point they had reached the main desk. “Good morning,” she told it (him?), “we’d like to withdraw from the Emrys vault, please.”

“Key?” it asked as it lowered its glasses to properly glare at them (and yes, Merlin was definitely sticking with _it_ , for now).

McGonagall handed over a key that seemed to materialise from thin air, which it probably did, and handed it over to the Goblin. It inspected the key for a few moments before saying a curt, “Follow me.”

They did, and he eventually lead them to what looked like it was underground. There were countless tunnels all going in varying directions and they seemed to go on forever. Through each there were some sort of tracks on the floor and right next to them were a collection of carts that the professor and the goblin were already climbing into. He clambered in after them.

When they started moving, Merlin thought he was going to be sick. The speed of the thing was insane; far faster than any rollercoaster, he was sure. And not to mention the heights, Merlin had never really though himself scared of heights, he was wrong.

Eventually they did come to a stop, and as they climbed out the goblin started to explain. “The Emrys vault is one of the oldest that we have here, not many have ever been this deep into Gringotts. Having such an old vault means that it’s very well protected.” He didn’t say anything more, just led them forwards.

Everyone else seemed to know what was coming. McGonagall had gone slightly pale and the goblin had a satisfied grin on his face while he watched very closely for Merlin’s reaction. So when he heard the roar of a dragon, Merlin wasn’t sure what to think.

That was, until he realised that that roar was a cry for help. As soon as he heard it his head snapped up, staring shocked and accusing at the smirk on the goblin’s face.  It seemed to know exactly what Merlin was feeling.

“No,” he whispered brokenly. It felt like a part of his soul was crying out. “No!” he shouted this time. McGonagall looked shaken at his reaction, but he didn’t see it, he was too busy running ahead to where he heard the sound come from. He felt someone’s hands try and grab him but he was too fast, a lifetime of running away was finally paying off.

When he entered a large circular chamber he thought he would definitely throw up this time. There was a huge white dragon. She was chained by a collar and covered in scars that shone against her once beautiful scales. And when he looked properly, Merlin saw that she was blinded and that her wings were torn in certain places. And Merlin knew that the tears in his eyes were entirely justifiable.

The creature roared at him, but it sounded pitiful, broken. He could hear the message behind it, _Help me, Emrys_. Merlin didn’t know why he could hear the dragon but he knew he was the only one that could, because if anyone else in the world had heard this creature then it would have been freed long ago.

Merlin moved towards her and she nuzzled her snout into his chest. He was dwarfed by her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to her, “I’m so sorry, but I don’t know how to help you.” He didn’t know how anyone could be so cruel to a creature so pure and intelligent. “I can’t help you now,” he said through his tears, “but I _swear_ I will come back and I will help you. As soon as I am able.”

That was when McGonagall and the goblin finally caught up. They walked into the chamber to see Merlin hugging the dragon through his tears.

“Merlin, get away from there!” she said, seemingly terrified. “Do something!” she shouted at the goblin.

It was regarding the situation calmly, not at all surprised by a boy cuddling with a dragon. “Step away, boy,” it ordered. “This will not be pretty, and you need to be safely away.” It didn’t sound like it believed a single word coming out of its mouth. It knew that she wouldn’t harm Merlin. Merlin just didn’t know how it knew.

Merlin stroked her snout one more time before moving away and doing as he was told. He knew that the professor couldn’t understand and he didn’t know how to explain it to her, he just knew that he had to what he’d just done.

Once he was in reach, McGonagall grabbed him and pulled him to her side. He tried to resist the flinch when she unexpectedly reached for him, but he couldn’t. She seemed to wound up and panicky to notice, anyway. “How could you do something so foolish?!” she asked frantically.

Merlin knew it was concern that led to her shouting, but that didn’t stop his mind from drawing up all the connections and similarities to Cenred. And now her grip on his arm seemed far too tight. He scrunched up his eyes and tried to cut out the links his mind was making and form a reasonable explanation to tell her but all Merlin could do was whisper over and over again, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, let me go. I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.”

He felt her grip start to loosen instantly. But before she could utter a word another cry tore through the chamber. The loud roar was filled with pain and a plea, _Emrys!_ She was crying out for him.

“No!” he wailed, he saw the goblin with some sort of bell, making her cower into the far end of the chamber, away from where they stood. This time, when he tried to run to her the professor kept him firmly in her arms.

“She’s trained to feel pain when she hears the bell,” the goblin explained to them.

“Please! You’re hurting her!” he screamed. “Stop it! _Stop it, please_!” In the depths of his soul he could feel her pain and her fear. It wasn’t just his own worry for her that he was feeling. Everything she felt, passed through him also.

It didn’t matter how much he screamed, the goblin ignored him as McGonagall practically dragged him across the chamber to where they needed to go. He begged her to let him go, to let him help but she wouldn’t listen to the cries of a child, no matter how much pain he felt.

But Merlin couldn’t take it anymore. Every emotion was rolling through him, both his and the dragon’s, and eventually he just cried, “STOP!” The bell in the goblin’s had exploded and his eyes glowed gold.

* * *

After the Gringotts disaster Merlin was subdued, and McGonagall didn’t quite know what to make of it.

That was no kind of magic she had ever witnessed before. And while it was very possible, especially when in duress, for a child to perform accidental magic, this was different. The child’s eyes had looked golden, and she could feel the raw power that radiated off him as soon as he had done the magic. And afterwards he had been left unnaturally drained of energy.

And this was odd enough without even mentioning the dragon. How the boy had gotten so attached so quickly, she would never know. But to find him cuddled with it, tears in his eyes, but completely unharmed was a miracle in and of itself. She had no idea how it had happened, and she had a feeling that the boy didn’t quite know himself.

She tried to not think on his reaction to being held back, and more on his reaction to the creature being hurt. He had acted like it was him cowering in that corner, the amount of pain on his face throughout the ordeal troubled her greatly, and yet she had no idea why it was so bad for him. Minerva had always felt uneasy at the sight of the dragon chained like that, on the rare occasions she had had to see it, but never had she felt pained at the sight of it.

After the bell had exploded in the goblin’s hand, Merlin had slumped in her arms, apparently content to stop protesting now that the dragon was no longer under attack. Even though the dragon was no longer being targeted, it had curled up in the far side of the chamber, clearly not wanting to risk itself now it was finally unharmed.

The goblin had been undisturbed by the exploding bell, nor the shrapnel in his hand. Instead he had just looked smugly at Merlin, with a satisfied look on his face. “It appears you truly are Emrys,” he had said to the boy. McGonagall, hadn’t any idea what that was supposed to mean, but was still too busy processing all that had happened to question him on it.

“Please can we just get the money and leave,” Merlin had asked tiredly from where he sat, slumped, on the floor.

“Yes, I think that’s a good idea,” Minerva had said. She helped the boy up and half supported his weight for the rest of the time that they were in the bank. She thought that he might try and pull away from her, and was relieved when he accepted her support without question. He seemed far too exhausted to even consider rebelling against her touch, as he had done so many times previously.

And that’s how the majority of the afternoon had gone. Slowly Merlin had regained some strength and was capable of walking on his own, but he remained lacklustre and sleepy. They collected his textbooks, purchased him his robes, bought him his potion ingredients and the like, but the entire time he was uninterested and distant. Gone, somehow, was the curious boy who had started at it all in wonder. So when he turned excited to look at the pet shop, McGonagall ushered them in as fast as possible, anything to bring back Balinor’s boy.

The instant they had walked in, a kitten had jumped out of another child’s arms and strutted up to Merlin and then sat by his feet. It was a pure white cat, with short fur, and eyes that were yellow - but almost golden. Merlin had grinned and picked her up, for her to start purring instantly, once in his arms. He gave a small laugh as she nuzzled into his cheek. Minerva sighed in relief; something had finally cheered him up.

The shop manager had walked over to them in a state of shock. “That cat,” he said, “she’s never like this with anyone.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I was starting to think that she hated all witches and wizards,” he laughed.

It was then that the kitten looked over her shoulder to meow at the man in what sounded like annoyance and disdain. As much as a cat can sound annoyed. McGonagall was highly amused, Merlin, however, didn’t share her opinion.

“Aithusa!” he said reproachfully to the cat, “That isn’t very kind.” She then wined, sounding pitiful. He grinned at her and stroked her fur, before saying, “Alright then, I’ll forgive you!”

He turned to McGonagall and beamed up at her. She couldn’t resist the smile that crept on to her face at the sight. “You’re calling her Aithusa then?” she asked as he went back to petting the feline.

“Yes,” he answered, adopting a pensive look onto his face, “I don’t know why, it just feels right.” He snapped out of it rather quickly, and then he went back to grinning at his new pet.

After they had paid and left the store, Merlin was overall in a much better mood. His experience in Gringotts seemed mostly forgotten. And there was now only one thing left that they had to buy before she would have to take him home, a wand.

As they walked into Olivander’s the eccentric shopkeeper appeared almost instantly. He was an old man with medium-length, white hair and bright blue eyes that had always reminded her of Albus. He had a look about his, almost as though he knew something that he was certain nobody else did. Yes, he definitely reminded her of Albus Dumbledore.

“Who do we have here?” he asked interestedly.

Minerva nudged Merlin when he didn’t respond. “Oh! I’m -er- I’m Merlin Emrys, sir,” he said timidly. Minerva was about to say something to comfort him and try and make him less nervous, when a loud meow from the ground got him to grin again. The animal was good for him, she decided.

“Emrys eh? A family even older than mine, now that _is_ a rare thing!” he said excitedly. “I remember helping your father choose his wand, so long ago, and yet it feels like yesterday.”

Merlin looked uncomfortable at the mention of his father. His body tensed and he swallowed reflexively, looking down.

“And your mother too,” he continued, oblivious to the child’s distress. “She showed such kindness in her heart, even then. Yes, she was a true Hufflepuff, a badger from the start, I’d say.” Merlin’s brow furrowed in confusion, no doubt at the unfamiliar word and the comparison of his mother to an animal.

“But enough of the past! You’re here about your own wand, not theirs. Now which hand . . .” And from there Olivander went about asking all of the usual questions, taking measurements and all the like. Somehow putting together all of this information to bring his client the perfect wand for him.

Many different wands were tried out, most with disastrous effects. Lots of things broke, lots of things blew up and McGonagall almost had her hat knocked off at one point. It had seemed like they had been there forever. But id didn’t take long for things to get extremely out of hand.

“Here,” said Olivander, “Unicorn hair, Ash wood, twelve inches. Give this one a try!” She had no idea how he could maintain his optimism. It was their forty-seventh attempt, and Minerva was not optimistic. And before Merlin could even wave the wand cautiously, Aithusa moved away from him to hide behind McGonagall, she did not take this as a good sign.

The boy sighed, looking like it was the last thing he wanted to do, but followed instruction and winced as he moved the wand. For a long moment nothing happened. And then the wand started shaking in Merlin’s hand. His eyes widened as he looked from the wand in his hand to the two adults watching him. Mr Olivander lunged forward to try and snatch the wand out of his hand, but it was too late. The wand exploded and splintered everywhere.

They all stood in silence for a moment. Merlin was biting his lip and looking down. He seemed terrified that he was about to get scolded. Minerva felt for the boy. She wanted to say something but she was speechless. While none of the wands had had _good_ reactions so far, she certain hadn’t expected one that _bad_.

Their silence was interrupted by a meow that sounded distinctly like an _‘I told you so’_.

“Well I never!” Olivander exclaimed. “I could tell you were powerful boy, but to blow up a wand! Ha!” he laughed. He immediately busied himself picking up the splinters of left-over wand as Merlin regarded him with a shocked expression.

“What? You aren’t angry?” he asked, utterly bewildered. “But I broke your wand!” She wasn’t quite sure why the boy was seeking some sort of retribution, but she was certain that he would be receiving none.

“Of course not, my boy,” Olivander laughed. “The wand chooses the wizard; it’s hardly your fault if you were too much for this wand to handle. Now, stop being ridiculous!”

He left a shocked looking Merlin and then went to rummage around in the back of the shop. When he came back through he was carrying a very old-looking box and brushing dust off of the top of it. “Now, here we are!” he said eagerly. “I made this years ago, I had almost forgotten about it.”

He opened the box to reveal a dark brown wand with golden carvings and symbols engraved into the wood. It was beautiful. “These are carvings of the old religion,” he said. “Now, this is twelve and a half inches, with the scale of a great dragon as its core, and made of birch wood. As a rule, dragon cores produce wands with the most power, I think this is rather important in this case,” he said with a smile. “And did you know that according to druidic lore birch is a wood with great powers to purify and discipline. Birch is about new beginnings, fresh starts and creativity. The druids called it a Goddess tree, the symbol of summer ever-returning.”

Minerva wasn’t sure why he had given such an in-depth explanation with this wand, there was no telling if it would be any better for the boy that the last. However, Merlin seemed enraptured by it all, fascinated by the history and the meaning of it all. And when he moved to take this wand, it was without any of the apprehension and anxiety that accompanied his last few attempts.

He didn’t even get as far as grabbing the wand. As soon as his hand was close enough, his eyes flashed a bright gold and the wand flew to his hand, sparks coming out of the end in the same hue as his glowing eyes. The power pouring out of him was something else entirely.

“Marvellous!” Olivander enthused. “Simply wonderful! I do believe that we have a perfect match Mr Emrys!”

The gold faded and Merlin looked at him with wide blue eyes. “Yes, I think so too,” he agreed, looking at his wand in awe.

Minerva, however, was looking at _him_ in awe. That was twice now. In one day. Twice, that he had done extraordinary magic with his eyes changing to _gold_. The first time due to the stress with the dragon, the second the joy of uniting with is wand. Minerva knew there had to be a connection somewhere but she just couldn’t find it. She would _have_ to talk to Albus about how extraordinary this little boy was.

“Right,” she said, snapping out of her daze, “I believe that was all we needed from Diagon Alley. Let’s pay Mr Olivander and I can take you back home.”

His head snapped up when she said the word, home. He bit his lip and nodded reluctantly, but she could see the conflict and fear in his eyes at the thought of going back there. She hated that she had to return him to that horrid place, but there was nothing she could do about it for a while yet. The school year didn’t start for months, and until she was officially his teacher then she had no power in the situation.

She made herself a promise that she would help the boy anyway she could, as soon as she was able.

And neither knew that they had both made a promise that day almost identical to the other.

* * *

They had apperated back to Little Whinging. It was not an experience that Merlin was keen to repeat, and he had no idea how the professor could keep so composed when it felt like you were being turned inside out. And while he could appreciate the practicality of apperation, he was in no hurry to learn how to do so himself.

They were a few streets away from Privet Drive; they couldn’t be seen by any muggles, after all.

Merlin knew that this would be his last interaction with someone magical for a few months and the thought saddened him greatly. It was one thing when he knew he had magic but no idea how to access this whole other community. It was another thing to know exactly where to go and who he could talk to, only to be held back from it all by his ‘family’.

“There are just a few more things that you should be aware of before I leave,” McGonagall started, taking advantage of their short walk. “You will board the train at platform nine and three quarters, to get onto the platform run at the wall between platforms nine and ten.” She said this as if it was the most natural thing in the world and Merlin gawped at her in incredulity. She purposefully ignored his stare; he could tell by her slight smirk, she probably enjoyed freaking out new students with this information.

“You should also know,” she carried on, “that you will be sorted into one of four houses upon your arrival to Hogwarts. Gryffindor, for the brave and reckless, of which I am head of; Ravenclaw, for the wise and creative; Slytherin, for the cunning and ambitious; and Hufflepuff, for the kind and hard-working,” she explained.

He nodded, trying to take in all of the new information. “Which houses were my parents in?” he questioned quietly. He had been taught to never bring up his parents in the house, so the only person he had ever really mentioned them to was Harry. But he could remember Mr Olivander mentioning his mother and Hufflepuff.

McGonagall confirmed his trail of thought. “Your mother was a Hufflepuff,” she said with a small smile. “Their symbol is a badger, that’s why Mr Olivander called her one earlier today.”

“A- and my dad?” he asked cautiously, still nervous about the topic of his parents.

When she answered, the professor had a faraway look in her eyes. “He was a true Gryffindor,” she said with pride, “brave until the end.” When she though he wasn’t looking, Merlin saw her subtly wipe away a tear.

“I didn’t know your mother very well,” she started as they neared number six, “but I know they would have both been proud of you.”

Merlin bit his lip and nodded, trying to believe her. The kitten in his arms started purring, almost to try and reaffirm the belief with him. He smiled at Aithusa and then the professor, as a thank you for saying it, even if he didn’t quite believe it. After all, how could they be proud of a son who’d done nothing but disappoint and let down his remaining family?

They said their goodbyes and Professor McGonagall was on her way.

Before Merlin stepped inside he had one thought: he couldn’t wait to tell Harry!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Merlin knew there was something different about his magic. He wasn’t quite sure what it was that made him so sure. But it just felt like he had something . . . _more_.

Now that made him sound incredibly big headed. He wasn’t saying that what he had was _better_ , just different.

It was the same as with the dragon. He had had some sort of soul-deep bond with her and he didn’t understand _why_. The magic came from the same part of him, from his very core. And he had absolutely no control over it. Somehow this weird magic was linked to his strange connection with the dragon. He had no idea how, but he would figure it out.

He had done plenty of accidental magic before. He had been doing it since he was three (at least that was his earliest memory of it), but never had it been that golden explosion he had felt within him.

Something had awoken in him when he met the dragon, and he wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or not. Merlin had always been different, the outsider. Whether that be at school or at home, he was always pushed away as the freak. Before he thought it was just because of his magic, he was a wizard so of course he didn’t fit in with these people.

But then harry came along, and once he was old enough Merlin had found is first friend in the four year old boy who lived next door. And that was when Merlin realised that being an outsider had nothing to do with his magic, because here was a perfectly ordinary boy that was just like him. And so they became outcasts together. Well, he says together, but they weren’t really. As soon as Cenred and Mr Dursley had noticed their friendship they shut it down. Cenred used threats and violence, which is a known and effective tactic for him, and Merlin had no idea what the Dursleys had tried. Whatever it had been wasn’t very effective, because Harry kept coming up to him for the next few months.

That was, until, he started noticing Merlin had more bruises than usual, he held his side when he laughed more often than not. Harry had never been the most perceptive person, Merlin thought, but he had caught on to what was going on with Merlin very quickly. And so they avoided each other once more. They now only very rarely spoke to each other, and tried their hardest to be subtle about it. Harry wasn’t scared of the Dursleys but he knew that Merlin was scared of Cenred, and Merlin was pretty sure that Harry was scared for him as well. It didn’t really matter that they couldn’t talk much, Merlin knew that Harry was there for him and Harry knew the same. They were brothers in all but blood. And when both of them could see what their blood relatives were like, they decided that blood didn’t really matter.

So when McGonagall had explained to him that nobody outside of his muggle family and other wizards could know about his magic, Merlin didn’t even consider not telling Harry, after all, he was his only true family.

It was three weeks after Merlin had bought all of his school supplies that he had a chance to speak to Harry. Mordred was off from school with a cold, and since Harry didn’t mind getting caught by the Dursleys, they had the entire school day to spend together! With both breaks and lunch, they would have a total of two hours to spend, and Merlin could finally tell Harry he’s a wizard.

He didn’t tell him straight away, he wanted to the make the most of his time and just catch up with his friend. Apparently noting much had changed with Harry, Dudley was still a bully, he still lived under the stairs and the Dursleys hadn’t started treating him any worse either. Merlin was satisfied with the lack of news; usually something important happening to one of them wasn’t ever good. But Merlin finally had an exception that he could tell Harry about.

“So what about you then?” Harry asked, “I’m guessing nothing much has changed.”

“Well actually,” Merlin started with a smile. Harry’s eyebrows rose at the apparent good news he was about to hear. “So I got this letter a few weeks back, it was from the boarding school that my parents went to, and I have a standing place there,” Merlin said with a grin.

“A boarding school . . .” Harry repeated, his face falling. “But I’ll never see you.”

“Wait, no, Harry,” Merlin said, comprehension dawning on him. “Let me explain -”

“No, I get it,” Harry said, putting up a brave face for his sake. “You _have_ to get away from your uncle; you shouldn’t have to stay in a place like that.”

“That’s not it Harry,” Merlin assured quickly, “I’d stay there for you, you _know_ I would.” Harry smiled and nodded but Merlin could see it was fake. “This isn’t just a regular school! It’s for people with magic!”

Harry laughed harshly and tried to walk away. He thought Merlin was mocking him. Merlin, who had been his only friend, was making up stories of magic and lies just to get away from him. Harry wouldn’t just sit and listen to it.

“Harry!” Merlin called after him. He felt himself stubble backwards, as if being dragged, but when he looked over his shoulder, Merlin was still a good three metres away.  What the hell? “Harry please!” Merlin cried again. And Harry was dragged back another step or two. When he looked back this time, Merlin’s eyes were wide with realisation.

Harry decided he would walk the rest of the distance of his own free will. “What the hell was that?” Harry said in partial anger partial confusion.

Merlin sighed and said tiredly, “I’m a wizard, Harry,” while running a hand through his hair, self-consciously.

“You’re a what?”

“I’m a wizard,” he repeated.

“Look,” Harry started, “I know I’ve always teased you for your name and everything,” Merlin smiled at that, “and I have no idea how you just did that trick just then, but you can’t be a wizard. You’re Merlin, just Merlin.”

Merlin smiled a melancholy smile. “Do you remember that time, a few years ago, when we were stupidly sat in your front garden and I heard the Dursleys threaten you with actual violence for the first time?” That was before Merlin had learned that the Dursleys were not as bad as the Kings, they would never actually cause physical harm to a child, they knew where to draw the line.

Harry gave a half-hearted laugh. “You were livid,” he said, “I was sure that if Cenred hadn’t come when he did that you would have tried to tackle my uncle to the ground.”

“I really was,” he said. “But do you remember what happened after that?”

“What do you mean?”

“The power went out across our whole street for the next three hours,” Merlin answered.

“You can’t mean that that was -” Merlin cut him off with a nod.

They spoke as much as they could after that. Merlin recounted any time he could remember using is accidental magic, he told Harry about what little memories he had about them and how they almost always contained magic, about his new found love for Aithusa and all the wonders of Diagon Alley. Harry and listened to it all with a look of awe on his face.

The only part Merlin didn’t tell him about was the dragon and his newfound connection to her, not to mention his eyes glowing gold (which had happened a few times when he did magic since the incidents that day). It wasn’t that he wanted to keep anything from Harry; it was just that he wanted to know for himself what was going on before he had to try and explain it all to someone else.

But their time had run out. The school day was over and Harry and Dudley would be picked up by Petunia, Harry’s aunt, and since Mordred wasn’t there Merlin would have to walk home.

He wasn’t looking forward to going home again. After the initial few days after he got his wand, Cenred had stayed in that weird state of indifference. But it didn’t take long for things to revert back to how they had been before his Hogwarts letter had ever arrived. Merlin was extremely careful not to use this new magic around Cenred, Morgause and Mordred. It was bad enough when regular magic was seen or used, but Cenred was brought up by a magic family, he would realise how strange Merlin was. That was the last thing Merlin needed to happen, he didn’t want to give Cenred another reason to torment him further. Things were bad enough as it was.

* * *

When he got home he was confronted by Mordred. He tried to stick to his rules, he really did. He should have learned by now that he was to never rise to Mordred’s bait. It was his first and most important rule, and yet, here he was, disregarding over something so petty. It shouldn’t have been a big deal; it was nothing he hadn’t heard before. But for whatever reason, that day, it just got to him.

He’d gotten home and tried to make it to his attic room as quietly as possible. The less attention he drew to himself the better. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem. But Mordred had been ill that day, and he was determined to take that out on somebody else, and that meant Merlin.

He had only made it as far as the second floor when Mordred confronted him.

“I’m guessing you spoke to that freak next door today?” he asked. Merlin knew what he was doing. Mordred had learned a long time ago that the quickest way to get to Merlin was to insult the people he cared about - well, _person_ he cared about.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, Mordred,” Merlin responded calmly, “there are no freaks next door. Unless you mean Dudley? But you know we’re not friends.”

Mordred had attempted a smirk. He couldn’t quite pull it off effectively with a red nose and a duvet around his shoulders. “Don’t try to be smart, it doesn’t suit you, _Mer_ lin.”

This was just child’s play. _This_ , Merlin could ignore easily.

“Is there something you wanted, Mordred, or can I go to my room?” Merlin couldn’t stand his cousin, but along with his rule not to rise to Mordred’s bait, came the rule to always stay polite and respectful. As much as Merlin hated it, he would stick to it as long as he could.

Mordred laughed. “Eager to get away, are we? Why, what’ve you got to hide?”

Merlin tried to show no emotion on his face, but knew he had failed when he heard Mordred chuckle again. He didn’t even know himself if this guilt was over the new magic or his meeting with Harry, but either way, he would apologise for neither. This thought strengthened his resolve.

“No,” he said, looking his cousin straight in the eye, “nothing to hide.”

Merlin had never been good at lying. It was something both Mordred and Cenred had thoroughly taken advantage of. So he was sure that this knew found confidence, especially when Mordred _knew_ he was lying, had almost definitely thrown his cousin off. He took an unconscious step back as his face scrunched in confusion. Merlin had to suppress a smile at the small victory.

“I don’t know why you’re so desperate to hang around with that Potter boy, anyway. I mean, we’ve always known that you were a desperate weirdo, but stalking a kid that’s two years younger than you . . . that must be a new low, even for _your kind_.”

Merlin bit his lip and screwed his eyes shut to keep from saying anything, even as his hand clenched and unclenched itself at his side.

Mordred must have noticed, because his malicious smile widened before he kept on talking. “Then again, Potter’s such a freak himself, he probably wouldn’t even mind. He’s about as desperate for a friend as you are. Why is that, I wonder?” he asked himself. “I bet it’s because of his parents, yours too, I’m sure.” Merlin’s eyes snapped open at the mention. And neither boy had noticed yet, but Merlin’s eyes began to flicker gold. “Yes, both of you, with your stupid, dead parents.”

Merlin gaped at him. Hunith and Balinor were never spoken about, ever. It was one of Cenred’s rules that even Mordred seemed too afraid to break. Well, apparently not. Merlin wasn’t sure what to think of his parents being brought up like that. He could tell that Mordred wanted to push his buttons, and so far was doing a commendable job, but this was something else.

“Don’t talk about my parents like that,” he snapped. “Or Harry’s, for that matter.” Considering what was being said, Merlin still felt reasonably calm about the whole situation. “You know nothing of my parents, and nothing about me, so shove off, Mordred.”

“Well I know just about as much about your parents as you do! Remember, they _died_ when you were only a toddler!” he shouted.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Merlin said with a smirk, “I have actual memories of my parents. And in those three or four moments that I remember, my parents showed me far more love than I have _ever_ seen Cenred and Morgause show you! So say what you want, Mordred, but I pity you,” Merlin spat.

Mordred’s eyes widened and is face went red, whether it was because of embarrassment or rage, Merlin wasn’t quite sure yet (and he was not looking forward to finding out). He cousin seemed surprised, that much he was certain of.

They might’ve spent an entire minute just staring at each other in shock; neither of them had expected something that harsh to come out of Merlin’s mouth. He wasn’t sure whether to be proud of himself for finally winning and shutting Mordred up, or disappointed for sounding so cruel. This wasn’t Merlin; he didn’t want to turn into the people he was living with. He couldn’t let himself sink that low.

“Look, I’m sorr-” But Merlin’s apology was cut off by Mordred turning on his heel and storming back into his bedroom. But no before Merlin caught a glimpse of tears in his eyes.

How could he be so stupid? His cousin was a prat, but he was only eight! He didn’t deserve to hear that, no one did. How could he be so insensitive? He had been told all of his life that he was worthless and unloved, his only reprieve had been Harry, so why on earth had he turned all of that back on to Mordred? He was an idiot, a complete, and absolute, idiot.

Sighing, Merlin picked his school bag up off the corridor floor and turned to make his way up to the attic. Why couldn’t he have just stuck to his rules and kept his mouth shut? Merlin had no idea what sort of consequences would come from this, but he knew for sure that they would be terrible, and he was not looking forward to them.

Said consequences arrived at dinner. Well, lack-of-dinner he should probably call it instead.

It had started when he came down to find only three place set at the table, and all of them already filled by his ‘family’. The second he’d seen it he had understood that that meant there was no food for him tonight, this was really nothing new. He had started to turn around, ready to leave, knowing that there was no place for him there.

“Stop,” Cenred had ordered. Merlin paused, he was confused but he knew he had to always follow orders. “You’re going to sit there,” he said, “and watch.”

Merlin turned around, with his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “Watch?” he repeated warily.

“Yes,” Cenred confirmed, “Watch.”

So Merlin approached the table and watched. He watched as they ate and chatted and conversed. He watched them behave as a family, knowing that he wasn’t a part of that. He realised, this wasn’t about the food he was missing. Cenred was showing him that he wasn’t one of them, that he would never be a part of the family.

Merlin had always known that. He had always been taught that he was a freak and an outsider. This wasn’t news to him, but being confronted by it like that hurt. It shouldn’t. He should have been used to it by now. He wasn’t. He didn’t know why he wasn’t. And he hated himself for it.

And that must have been Cenred’s plan all along.

“I know what you did today.” It was the first time Cenred had addressed him since the order and it snapped him out of his daze.

“What?”

“I said, I know what you did today,” Cenred said calmly. “Or rather, who you were with.” Merlin swallowed reflexively. He had never been good at lying; he could hardly deny what Cenred was obviously implying. “What do you think you were doing with Harry?”

“Nothing!” Merlin said quickly, averting his gaze from Cenred’s eyes. “We weren’t doing anything!”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” he said, some anger sinking into his voice. “Oh no, Mr Dursley was considerate enough to send dear Dudley over with a message as soon as he found out.”

Merlin said nothing; he just kept his eyes focused on a random spot on the table. He knew to keep quiet. Cenred was getting angry, and when he got angry over Harry Merlin knew the best thing was to just sit still and take it.

“What? Nothing to say? No clever remarks like earlier today? Nothing to say like you said to Mordred?” On the other side of the table, Mordred flinched. That was when Merlin realised that Mordred hadn’t told Cenred anything, Cenred had overheard.

Merlin blanched.

Slowly, Cenred rose from the table, towering over Merlin. He tried hard to suppress a flinch as Cenred’s hand clamped down on his shoulder. He failed. He saw the sick grin forming on Cenred’s face as he subconsciously tried to lean away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin started whispering. “I’m so sorry, it was stupid, and I didn’t mean it! Please, I promise!” He kept saying the same thing over and over. He knew. He had learned that it made no difference at times like these.

* * *

The next day Merlin didn’t get out of bed.

The day after that, he managed to make it downstairs once, for food.

And after that, it was Monday, and no matter what, he was not allowed to skip school. When he saw Harry in the halls the boy almost ran to him, before Merlin minutely shook his head, and limped along his way.

Mordred didn’t look him in the eye for a week, but Merlin held no blame for him, for once.

Merlin didn’t speak more than one or two words at once for the next three weeks. No one really noticed any difference in his behaviour. No one but Harry, that is. Harry watched him like a hawk. It was pointless, really; it wasn’t like there was anything Harry could do to help.

But still, he watched. It was like he was waiting for something. Like he was waiting for Merlin to fight back. Merlin was waiting for that too.

Just a few more months, he reassured himself. Just a few more months and he could finally be away from it all. A few more months and he would be at Hogwarts, learning magic with people who were just like him. Well, maybe not _just_ like him, even among wizards he was an oddity. Destined to be an outsider.

Merlin wasn’t sure he could wait any longer. If his life continued like this, he wasn’t sure whether he would last until September first. Cenred hadn’t touched for three weeks. Merlin was certain that he knew. He knew that if he hurt him anymore that Merlin was probably going to break irreparably. Merlin was almost counting on it.

Just a few more months . . .

* * *

The next time he properly spoke to Harry, it was the start of the summer holidays (it was the first time he’d really spoken to _anyone_ since). It was one of the rare afternoons where both the Kings and the Dursleys had gone for a family day trip, obviously leaving both Harry and Merlin behind with the neighbour, Mrs Figg. Both families thinking that their nephews were completely alone and isolated. Mrs Figg would keep their secret.

Merlin had been there for an hour already when Mrs Figg had gone to open the door and retuned with Harry.

The second Harry saw him he grinned and ran to Merlin. Merlin smiled back, but it was half-hearted and looked pained. By the time Harry had reached him and went in for a hug, Merlin had seized up entirely. He could see the hurt look on Harry’s face as he pulled away from him.

It had only been seven weeks since the incident (Merlin decided that he had been having far too many ‘ _incidents_ ’ what with this with Cenred and months ago with the dragon), and Merlin was still wary of touch. Cenred was to sensible to cause any more harm to him for a while, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t take joy in grabbing Merlin at random times, doing anything to make him jump, make him scare.

Usually after a particularly bad confrontation with Cenred, Merlin would take a few weeks to adjust back to normal with how he acted with Harry. Merlin wasn’t quite sure what it was about this one that was making it take so long.

“Sorry,” Merlin muttered, feeling guilty. He forced his body to un-tense and relax itself. He tried to flash Harry a reassuring smile, from Harry’s face it probably didn’t turn out great.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said as he moved to take a seat on the settee next to Merlin. And Harry’s answering smile actually _was_ reassuring.

Mrs Figg put on the television for them and they sat together quietly watching. At some point Harry’s head had moved onto his shoulder and he was leaning against Merlin. Seeing Harry so relaxed like that, Merlin didn’t have the heart to tell about him the slowly-healing dislocated shoulder that his head was resting on. It had been twice as painful and had been taking twice as long to heal, since he only had it in a make-shift sling the first two days. But Merlin said nothing. Harry was finally relaxed for once; he wouldn’t ruin that just for his own comfort.

Eventually they started talking softly, the noise of the TV barely noticeable in the background. They didn’t speak about anything of importance. Harry knew better than to bring up Merlin’s injury, or how pained his voice sounded when he spoke. Although, to be fair, that sound wasn’t just from the _actual_ pain, Merlin hadn’t had a proper conversation with anyone in weeks (he rarely spoke at school and he avoided everyone at ‘home’), so his voice was bound to be a bit hoarse from lack of use.

It was Merlin who eventually brought up the topic.

It had been about three hours and Merlin was curled up on the sofa, resting on his side, while Harry was sat on the floor, his back against the settee. Their faces were close together and they were talking in whispers.

“I can’t do it anymore, Harry,” Merlin confessed, his voice rough and strained. “I can’t go back to that house.”

“You’ve got to,” Harry told him. “Believe me, I _hate_ you being there. But it isn’t for much longer right? You’ll be off to your new school soon; you’ll be away from it all.” Harry had clearly tried, but Merlin still heard the jealousy in his voice at the thought of being away from them all. “You’ve just got to make it until September.”

“I’ll really miss you, y’know,” Merlin said. “I know we don’t exactly spend that much time together, but I’ll miss knowing that you’re never far away.” He saw the back of Harry’s head nod. “I’ll write to you as well,” Merlin promised. “They use owls to deliver messages, so you don’t have to rely on the Dursleys to send one back. If anything, that’ll let us talk more than we do now,” Merlin tried to joke, but he just heard a sniffle coming from Harry.

“Please look at me?” Merlin asked gently. When Harry turned his head to the side, his eyes were slightly red and glistening.

“I’m glad you’ll be safe,” Harry told him, “but I’m really going to miss you, I probably won’t see you for a whole year, it not like it’s likely we’ll see each other before you go.”

They were both silent for a moment. Then Merlin said, “Happy Birthday, Harry. I know that it’s a few weeks away, but since I won’t see you, Happy ninth Birthday.” Harry cracked a small smile. Merlin patted the space on the settee in front of him. Harry climbed up and lay in front of him. Merlin wrapped one of his arms around his little brother and they both fell asleep like that.

And that was the last time they saw each other before Merlin went to Hogwarts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick thank you for the positive reviews I've been getting on here. I have been replying but I just wanted to say thank you again. You're all amazing!

**Chapter Four**

The Hogwarts Express was magnificent. Well, for a train, that is. He still wasn’t quite sure how a train managed to look impressive, he suspected magic was the answer (he also suspected that that would be the answer to a lot of the questions he would have this year).

Merlin felt a grin forming on his face. He would finally be studying magic! He was finally going to the place where his parents met and fell in love. He would be closer to them, at Hogwarts, than he had been in the last seven years. He was about to finally find himself a home.

He would be surrounded by people _just_ like him, all wizards, all with magic. He could hardly wait. For months he had been counting down to this day, and now it was only a few hours away, just a train ride away. Yes, his destiny was just a train ride away.

Or, possibly, he was about to crash head first into his destiny, luggage and all . . .

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Merlin exclaimed, clambering off of the boy he’d crashed into and then also fallen on top of. He struggled not to cry out in pain as he felt an ache in his ribs (Cenred’s goodbye present was really making itself known). He quickly picked up his fallen luggage and then Aithusa, ignoring her indignant meow. He stuck out his hand, offering the boy a hand up, and bit his lip guiltily, staring at the floor. Some first impression, huh . . .

The boy batted his hand away (rather rudely, actually), and pushed himself up of the ground, without assistance. Once he was up he brushed off his clothes - muggle clothes, Merlin noted - looking disdainfully at both his dust covered attire and Merlin. “Can’t you watch where you’re going?” he asked in a belittling tone that reminded him instantly of Cenred. He had to stop himself from physically recoiling backwards.

“S-s- sorry,” Merlin stuttered out, thrown off by the distinctly unpleasant tone. He finally found the courage to look up at the boy, finding a mop of golden hair and eyes almost as blue as his own. “I’ll help with your bags,” he offered quickly, trying to make up for his clumsiness. _Of course he’s acting unpleasant,_ Merlin tried to justify, _you just crashed into him; you can’t expect him to be jumping for joy_.

“No thank you,” he declined, not sounding the least bit thankful. “I hardly want to see what else you can manage to muck up,” he said with a sneer.

Merlin had to force himself to breathe deeply several times. Hogwarts was supposed to be his new start. He hadn’t even started his first day and he was already starting to feel the exact same way here as he did back there. What was wrong with him? How did he manage to make people hate him everywhere he went?

“Hello?” the boy said, waving his hands in front of Merlin’s face,

“Sorry, what?” he asked. He must have been talking while he’d zoned out, Merlin realised.

“Oh thank God,” the blonde said sarcastically, “I thought for a moment that you were deaf as well as dumb!”

“L- look, it was an accident,” Merlin tried to explain calmly; “I said I was sorry, I offered to help you with your bags, what more do you want from me?”

“Maybe you can try to not be such an idiot!” he cried.

Aithusa hissed in his arms and Merlin swallowed nervously. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’ll leave you alone now.”

He bit back a thousand different retorts that had come to mind; a lifetime of biting your tongue had its effects. All he wanted was to shout back at the boy, tell him that there was no need to be such a _prat_ ; anyone could see that it was an accident; he didn’t have to make such a big deal out of. But, of course, he couldn’t. He had lived for far too long on the knowledge that opening your mouth at the wrong time got you hurt; Merlin didn’t need any more of that. Logically, his brain insisted, that there was hardly any chance that this boy would respond physically, and even if he did, this place was busy enough that someone would stop him. But the logic meant nothing. Fear, and a lifetime of running away from conflict, got in the way.

Merlin placed Aithusa securely in her carrier and lugged his suitcase away. He kept his eyes down cast as he walked, watching his feet; he didn’t need to trip and offend anyone else. He would keep to himself until he reached Hogwarts. It was better that way. Anyway, he had Aithusa by his side, what more did he need? He nodded firmly to himself, his decision made.

“Excuse me, dear?” A hand wrapping around his forearm caused him to spin around and snapped him out of his thoughts. He gasped, eyes wide, and pulled away from the woman instantly. It took him a good thirty seconds to get his breathing under control and drive the panic away.

“Are you alright, dear?” The woman clearly decided that he would be better off without her touching him. Her eyes scanned him, full of concern, narrowing in on the way he held his side, the faint yellow, fading, bruise he had on his right cheek and the way his clothes hung off his frame. “I saw you crash into that other boy, I didn’t see any parents with you and thought I’d ask if you were alright.”

Merlin just looked at her with surprise. Why did she care? He wasn’t her problem, why would it matter to her if he was okay or not. He didn’t understand.

“Dear?” she asked with a friendly smile. She had bright red hair and seemed to be surrounded by far too many children with the same coloured hair. He wondered, distantly, if they were all her children or if some were nieces and nephews.

“Y- Yes,” Merlin finally stuttered out. “I’m- I’m fine.” He took a deep breath. “You di- didn’t need to . . . I’ll be going now,” he said awkwardly, backing away slowly.

“What about your parents?” she asked worriedly.

“I don’t have any,” he said quickly, before practically running in the opposite direction.

“Oh, Arthur,” he heard the same voice say, as he walked steadily away from the group. She sounded ever so sad. “I think that might’ve been Bal’s boy.”

Merlin almost spun around, just to check if he heard right. Bal? That could be short for Balinor, right? Did she know his father? He was routed to the spot. How could he turn around? What if he could hear more?

“Who the hell is _Bal?”_ That sounded like a young boy, maybe one of her sons. Merlin was still too afraid to turn around and check.

“Are you sure Molly?” It was an older man’s voice this time. Probably her husband and who he assumed was ‘Arthur’. “And Bal was one of our friends at Hogwarts, Ron, I shared a room with him for seven years. Balinor,” Merlin sucked in a silent breath, “his full name was Balinor, but we always called him Bal for short.”

His breathing sped up rapidly. That must have been his father. Balinor wasn’t a common name, and the woman _did_ think that he was his son. Did that mean he looked like his father? It couldn’t be a coincidence. All Merlin wanted to do was walk up to the couple and ask them a thousand questions. If they had been friends with his parents, does that mean he met them when he was small, before he was taken away? What were his parents like as teenagers? Was his father a good man? _Please_ , Merlin thought, _let him have been nothing like Cenred_.

“How come we’ve never heard of this Balinor before then?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Ron!”

“What?”

“He said he had no parents. Obviously they died, probably in the war.”

Merlin had tears in his eyes by this point. He was attracting quite a few stares from the people around him. Of course he was. He was a child alone on a busy train platform, crying and struggling to breathe. Of course people were watching. Aithusa gave a supportive meow from her carrier. He blinked and wiped the tears on the back of his sleeve.

“Oh. Well how was I supposed to -?”

“Shush” one of the whispered.

They must have spotted him. Well, he was hardly difficult to notice. So when a hand gently grabbed his shoulder and spun him around he wasn’t really that shocked or defensive.

“Hello,” said the man before him. He had bright ginger hair, just like the woman - his wife, Molly, was it? - had had. He had some round glasses on, as well as some worn, brown, wizarding robes. “I’m Arthur Weasley, you wouldn’t happen to be Merlin Emrys by any chance, would you?”

Merlin blinked slowly and then nodded. He was sure that his eyes were still red. The man held out a hand and Merlin shook it hesitantly.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Merlin’s eyes widened. So he _had_ met them when he was younger! “You know, you look a lot like your father did when he was your age. I think you might be a little taller,” he said, much to Merlin’s delight. “And skinner,” he added, with a sad sigh.

Merlin didn’t care, he beamed at the man. He looked like his father? He couldn’t believe it. “Really?” he asked Mr Weasley breathlessly.

The man smiled kindly and nodded. “Yes, really. Oh, and you definitely have his ears!” he said with a small chuckle.

Merlin flushed red, his ears turning a pinkish colour as well. But his smile hadn’t diminished. The only other discussion he had had about his parents had been with the professor, and all she had said was their houses and that his father had been brave. But now, Merlin was finally talking to someone who could tell him anything he wanted about his parents.

“Did . . . Did you know my mother too?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes, I did,” Mr Weasley said with a large smile, obviously glad that Merlin was participating in conversation. “I didn’t know her very well in our first few years at Hogwarts, since she was in a different house and all, but in the last few years we became closer. She was a very kind-hearted woman. No matter what, she could always make you smile.”

Merlin beamed at the information. He couldn’t believe it. It had taken eleven years, but he was finally getting to know his parents properly.

He was ready to ask a thousand more questions, but the man interrupted him.

“Look,” he said, not unkindly, “I’m sure you have a few questions, and I would love to answer them for you, but I’d hate for you to miss your train.” He looked apologetic. And when Merlin looked up to check the time, he saw it was almost eleven. His heart sunk knowing that this one chance to get some answers was ruined.

“Of course,” Merlin muttered, bending down to pick up Aithusa’s carrier (who had been suspiciously silent throughout all of this).

The man looked conflicted for a moment before glancing back at his family quickly and then saying, “My sons, Fred and George, they’re starting this year as well. If you would like to write a letter, with any questions, pass it on to them and they can send it with their letters to us.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “Wait- really?”

“Yes, now hurry!”

Merlin shouted a quick thank you and then ran for the train. Well, maybe his new start hadn’t started out so bad after all . . .

* * *

He walked a while before he found a relatively empty compartment. But eventually he stumbled on to one that only had two people in it, and they both looked like fellow first years.

He knocked and slid the door open slightly. “Is it okay if I sit here?” he asked nervously.

The boy grinned and said, “Of course, the more the merrier!” Merlin was pretty sure that he had an Irish accent. He gave off a very confidant aura, especially for an eleven year old. He had longish hair and a roguish grin, but his smile was infectious and Merlin couldn’t help but grin back.

“Thanks,” he said as he ducked his head and gave a sheepish smile. He put away his suitcase away and Aithusa’s carrier on the seat next to him, before introducing himself. “I’m Merlin,” he said politely.

Unsurprisingly the boy and the quiet girl across from him laughed. However when he failed to join in it died out uncomfortably.

“You were serious weren’t you?” the girl asked with wide eyes and an embarrassed flush to her cheeks. She was very pretty and had long brown hair.

Merlin nodded awkwardly in response to her question.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she gasped, apologetic. The boy, however, seemed to only laugh harder, finding it hilarious that someone could have that for an actual name, _especially_ a wizard. “Gwaine, don’t be rude!” she snapped at him.

The boy - Gwaine - sobered quickly after that. “Sorry, mate,” he said, still sounding rather amused, “but you better get used to that reaction because you’re going to get it a lot.”

Merlin’s ears were bright red, but he smiled good-naturedly; he figured that that would be the reaction to hearing his name. It was hardly a surprise. “Yeah,” Merlin muttered, “as soon as I realised I had magic when I was little, I had convinced myself that I was the _actual_ Merlin. I watched _The Sword in The Stone_ as much as I could,” he said with a self-deprecating smile.

Gwaine looked a little confused at the movie title but the girl smiled at him. “So are you muggle born then?” she asked. “Oh! I’m Mithian, by the way,” she beamed.

“No actually,” he said, “both my parents were wizards.”

“And they named you _Merlin_? That’s a big name to live up to! What the hell were they thinking?” Gwaine laughed. Merlin shrugged.

“Wait, you’ve never asked them?” Mithian asked, shocked.

Merlin swallowed uneasily. He hadn’t wanted this to come up so quickly. He didn’t want their pity. They were friendly and nice, Merlin didn’t want to ruin that and tell them that he’s an orphan. People always treated him differently when they found out. The only person who never did was Harry, and that was only because Harry was in the same boat as him. They were _both_ orphans, they knew that a stranger saying _‘I’m sorry’_ didn’t mean anything.

“Merlin?” Gwaine asked softly, after he’d zoned out.

“No, I never asked them,” he answered quietly, “they both died when I was four.”

“Oh,” Mithian said sympathetically, “I’m sorr-”

“It is fine,” Merlin cut her off, giving her an easy smile. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. And after finding out a few things today and knowing that he could learn more about his parents, the smile wasn’t even that fake.

Aithusa made a little noise of enquiry, not quite a meow.  He smiled genuinely as he opened the carrier to let her out, she didn’t wait a moment before jumping onto his lap and curling up there, quite contentedly.

“Who’s this lovely little lady?” Gwaine asked, changing the topic quite effectively. And Merlin was almost certain that Aithusa purred louder at the compliment.

He chuckled. “This is Aithusa,” he told them, “but, fair warning, the guy in the shop said she was very fussy with people.” Gwaine shrugged off his comment and went to stroke the kitten. She leaned into his touch. Gwaine smirked at proving Merlin wrong, but Merlin just smiled and shrugged at him.

“She’s so cute!” Mithian exclaimed as she leaned forward to try and touch the cat. Before she could even get close, Aithusa hissed and arched her back at Mithian.

Merlin and Gwaine both laughed, but Mithian seemed a little put out. “Don’t worry about it,” Merlin tried to reassure her, “I’ve no idea what makes her so fussy.”

“Maybe she doesn’t like girls,” Gwaine suggested.

“Maybe,” Mithian agreed, but she still didn’t seem very happy about.

The rest of the journey to Hogwarts was relatively peaceful, and Merlin took the opportunity to find out more about his new - hopefully soon to be - friends.

Turns out that they were both from pure-blood families, their families were old friends and apparently Gwaine’s were considered to be blood-traitors in some circles. The Orkneys were still a very old and influential family though, and Gwaine apparently hated his pure-blood status, he thought people should be judged on their own worth and nothing more. The Nemeths were also powerful, but Mithian’s father had married a half-blood so her grandparents weren’t pleased and had shunned her and her father.

“Dad never really cared though,” she told them, “he’s happy with mum and always tells us that, that’s all that really matters.”

It was an interesting conversation to say the least.

Merlin had also shared what little information he had on his family. His grandfather was a pure-blood but he had married a muggle-born, which was probably why his uncle was a squib. They had both been shocked to know the he had been raised without magic. He then went on to explain that his mother was also a half-blood, so he wasn’t sure what that made him.

Gwaine had just shrugged and said, “It doesn’t really matter. All that stuff on _blood purity_ is rubbish anyway!”

Merlin had smiled; glad that he was with someone who he didn’t think would judge him.

The conversation went on from there, and Merlin found out more about the wizarding world since his uncle had never allowed it to be spoken of. Merlin could only really compare what he heard with his experience in Diagon Alley, and after what he had seen with the dragon he knew that it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows in the wizarding world. Turns out it’s not so different from the muggle world. They have a working government and (sort of) police force, there was good education, and there were prejudices and discrimination, too. Just like the rest of the world . . .

When the train finally arrived, they were instructed to leave all their belongings on the train. Merlin trusted the school, but he wasn’t entirely comfortable leaving Aithusa behind like that. Gwaine and Mithian shrugged of his concerns, telling him that she would just show up in whatever dorm he would eventually sleep in. It didn’t stop him from worrying about her, but he accepted their words as truth.

They clambered off the train as a group; trying to stick together in the sea of students, all of which were taller than them. Merlin’s eyes widened at how many students there were. His primary school had only had a little under 200 students, there were close to a thousand (maybe more) here. It had felt just as busy on the platform at Kings Cross, but Merlin had attributed the chaos to the parents and family that everybody seemed to have with them. It was extremely overwhelming to see it again now.

He was brought out of his train of thought by Mithian tugging on his arm, pulling him in the direction of the moving sea of fellow first years. They were all moving towards a man who towered above even the seventh years. He was large (not just in height) and had very long hair and a very long beard, his face just surrounded by a big curly mass.

They piled onto the boats lined up, and since it was four to a boat the three of them sat together with a boy who had strawberry-blond curly hair, he had given them a small, nervous, smile as he took the last seat. The giant, however, seemed to need one boat just for himself, and even then, Merlin ever so slightly doubted that it would still sink.

Merlin’s head turned at the sound of all the gasps. Hogwarts was coming into view and it was . . . _amazing_. A castle! He was going to school in a castle! It was all made out of grey brick with turrets and spires. The lights shone through the windows, making it look like the castle glowed in the dark night. It was a cloudy night and so no stars could be seen, so the only thing giving them light was the castle a head. It just looked _magical_.

He really couldn’t help the grin that was on his face. He had finally made it, after he’d hoped and he’d waited. This place would become his home for the next few months, really for the next seven years, and he couldn’t have been happier. Merlin could sense the magic radiating off of the place in waves, but he was hardly surprised. Generations of magic users had graced the halls of Hogwarts; he could feel all of that power, all of the magic that they left behind. It was just calling to him. His smile broadened at the thought that some of his parents’ magic had been left behind there as well.

When he stepped foot off the boat and laid his first step on the school grounds, he had an overwhelming feeling of coming home. He stopped there for a good few seconds just grinning stupidly.

“Come on,” Gwaine said with an excited grin and a nudge to Merlin’s ribs to prompt him into moving again. Merlin bit down hard on his bottom lip to stop any cry of pain from escaping. He would not let Cenred ruin this for him. Merlin flashed him a fake smile, that didn’t reach his eyes, and they continued together.

They followed the rest of the group, which was led by the giant man that Merlin still hadn’t managed to catch the name of. Eventually they were led to a huge entrance all that easily fit in the entire group of first years. From where he was Merlin could spot two ginger boys who seemed to be attracting the attention of the people around them, all of them laughing rather loudly. Merlin went on his tip toes trying to see what was going on, but Mithian gripped his wrist and tugged him back down with a nod in the direction of a very displeased professor.

“Thank you, both, Mr’s Weasley, for that wonderful recollection of what the sorting will be like,” Professor McGonagall addressed the two twin boys (that Merlin only then realised must be Arthur Weasley’s sons, Fred and George). “You are, however, incorrect in your assumption that you are to _fist-fight_ all the heads of houses and whichever one you beat you join.” There were sniggers and laughs breaking out across the gathering of students there. She raised an eyebrow and the proud looks on their faces and Merlin saw a small smirk fight its way onto her face.

“The _real_ sorting will commence in a few moments,” she told the group of them, “I suggest that you tidy yourselves up a bit; you will be seen in front of the entire school.” Merlin saw her smile again at the nervous faces and people trying to quickly run their hands through their hair and other such things. He didn’t think it was a malicious smile, more, just amused.

Next to Merlin, Mithian was trying to fix her hair after Gwaine was continuously messing it up. He allowed himself a small smile at her expense. He was tempted to laugh a little, too, but he didn’t quite want to risk that temper she was using on Gwaine turning onto him.

“I swear to _Merlin_ , if you do that one more time I’ll -”

Merlin chocked on air. “You swear to who now?”

Gwaine laughed harder, and Mithian forgot her mussed hair, covering her mouth with both of her hands. At first it was in shock, and then quickly became her trying to muffle her laugh.

Merlin, on the other hand, just stood in front of them, not at all amused and thoroughly confused.

Gwaine’s laughter died down and he threw an arm over Merlin’s shoulder in a casual manner (Merlin only tensed slightly) before explaining to him, “She doesn’t mean you, mate. She means the old Merlin, you know, the legend. Wizards swear by his name, use him as a curse, kind of like how muggles use ‘Jesus Christ’.”

“You’re not serious,” Merlin groaned.

Mithian nodded through her giggles. Gwaine gave him a reassuring smile. “You’ll get used to it, mate.”

Merlin seriously doubted that. And he was about to tell them so when the doors to the great hall opened and McGonagall stepped forward. “If you’ll all follow me,” she said. “The sorting will now commence.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

For some reason, Merlin, surprisingly, wasn’t nervous. He observed the people around him and quite easily gathered that all of them were on edge, though some hid it rather well. Some of them were shaking, some fidgeting anxiously, others had a well put together façade and stood with their heads high. Gwaine was one of the latter. He gave off a cool air of nonchalance, his shoulders relaxed and his hands in his pockets, but Merlin could see the nerves in his eyes as they darted around the great hall. Another was the blond boy Merlin had run into on the platform. But the second he saw Merlin watching him, Merlin averted his gaze and looked down guiltily.

McGonagall brought out a three legged stool with and placed an old worn hat on it. It didn’t look like much. There were patches on it and it seemed a little frayed around the edges, but it did look like a proper wizard’s hat, like the type you imagine the _real_ Merlin would have worn. But either way, it still just looked like a plain old hat; he had no idea what this could have to do with the sorting.

That was, until the hat started singing.

Merlin’s eyes widened comically, as did a few of the others around him. Looking around him, and not really focusing on what the hat was singing, Merlin realised that it was only his fellow first years who were shocked, all of the staff members and older students seemed to be completely nonplussed and even entertained by the singing hat.

The only other person in the hall he caught not staring at the hat was the headmaster. Well, he assumed he was the headmaster, since he was sat in the middle of the staff table on a slightly taller and much more impressive-looking chair than the other professors, Merlin thought that he was a safe in his assumptions. But none of that explained why he wasn’t focused on the hat like everyone else (like _he_ should be). But no, rather than that his attention was centred on something else entirely. Him . . .

The headmaster of Hogwarts was staring directly at him.

There were dozens of new students but the man was only looking at him. His blue eyes were focused, they looked as if they could see right through you, discover your every secret. Though, Merlin was not worried about his secret, he was sure that Professor McGonagall would have reported his extreme oddities to the headmaster. No, that wasn’t what bothered Merlin about the headmaster’s stare. What bothered him was that the eyes he was staring into looked oh so similar to his own. It wasn’t just their bright blue colour, it was more than that. There was power there. Power and wisdom. Merlin had never before thought himself to possess either of those qualities, but when he looked in those eyes that was what he saw, and when he looked in those eyes it was like he was looking into his own.

But whatever side track his mind had decided to travel down was lost as abrupt silence pulled him back into reality. His eyes snapped away just on the tail-end of the applause.

McGonagall was now speaking, he realised, as she raised the hat off the stool and called out, “Bastet, Freya.” A very short girl with long brown hair and brown eyes walked up to the stool and sat down on it, and then McGonagall placed the hat on her head. It was quiet for a few moments, not long though, and then the hat shouted for the entire hall to hear, “HUFFLEPUFF!”

There was clapping and cheering throughout the hall, most of it coming from one table where Merlin assumed the Hufflepuffs sat.

A few more names were called out, including Valiant Black who was a Slytherin and Lance Du Lac who was a Ravenclaw, before it got to, “Emrys, Merlin.” There was laughter coming from everyone in the hall at the sound of his name. He blushed bright red when he realised. However, his name was the least of Merlin’s worries. Oh no, Merlin was far more concerned with his clumsiness. He would not surprise himself if he tripped on his way over. Or his way back.

As calmly as he could manage, and watching his feet as he went, Merlin made his way through the crowd of first years and towards the three legged stool. As he sat down, and just before the hat fell over his eyes, he saw professor McGonagall give him a small smile of encouragement. Perhaps she hoped that he would be in her house, like his father before him.

 _“Well, well, what have we here?”_ a voice asked. Merlin had put together enough to realise it was the hat talking, even if he hadn’t really listened to his song. _“What do you mean you didn’t listen to my song?!”_ It asked, outraged. _“Do you know how long I worked on that?”_

His eyes widened as he realised he was having his thoughts read, he thought he would at least have to think _at_ the hat, not just have it listen to every passing thought. _“An interesting idea,”_ the sorting hat told him, “ _but I’m far too nosy to just ignore what goes on in that head. You used sound logic, however, maybe Ravenclaw is an option after all . . .”_ he trailed off. “ _Yes, you do have a lot of intelligence and a lot of magical potential . . . but no, that isn’t your most defining quality.”_

 _Then what is?_ Merlin directed towards the hat.

 _“You have a lot of loyalty to those you love. That mush is clear.”_ Merlin’s mind instantly jumped to Harry, left alone with the Dursleys. How could he have abandoned him?  Clearly Merlin had no loyalty; he didn’t know what the hat was talking about. _“Yes, very loyal indeed if you’re feeling guilty for just getting an education.”_ Merlin bit back a thousand comments about how this wasn’t loyalty to Harry, and just let the hat talk at him.

 _“Gryffindor is also a possibility,”_ the hat mused, _“after all; you needed to be brave to survive all those years like you have.”_

Merlin breathed deeply, calming himself down before he could get worked up. _I was a coward._ He said simply. _I survived those years by running away and avoiding a fight; there’s nothing brave about what I did._

He heard the hat chuckle. “ _We seem to have very different opinions on both bravery and loyalty, Emrys. So what about Slytherin? You know, with that big secret of yours you could do well there. And with your power and potential, Slytherin would be the house to teach you how to best use that power.”_

 _I have no interest in power,_ He told the hat. But Merlin was starting to panic, it didn’t seem like he really belonged to any of the houses.

 _“On the contrary, I’d say that you could belong to all of them. The embodiment of what Hogwarts stands for, the embodiment of magic itself.”_ Merlin frowned. Magic itself? What was that supposed to mean? He heard the hat laugh again. “ _You’ll find out soon enough, young warlock. But for now, I can tell you that you belong in . . ._ HUFFLEPUFF!”

There was a brief moment after he’d taken the hat off that everyone sat in silence, before the Hufflepuff table burst into applause. Merlin went red again but that didn’t stop the grin on his face. Making sure to watch his feet as he made his way over to his new table, Merlin took the seat opposite that girl, Freya. The two of them shook hands while a few other people from older years gave him ‘Hello’s of slaps on the back. And if Merlin’s face was slightly strained every time someone clapped is shoulder, well, no one noticed.

Eventually the rest of his year got sorted. Elena Godwin joined Ravenclaw, Leon Knight joined Gryffindor, Morgana Le Fay who was a Slytherin, Gwaine was sorted into Hufflepuff (that was when Merlin clapped his loudest). After his new friend was his new enemy. Arthur Pendragon was his name apparently, and he was sorted into Gryffindor. Merlin really hoped he was wrong and the boy wouldn’t hold a grudge. Merlin once again cheered loudly as Mithian was sorted into Slytherin. After her was Gwen Smith who was a Gryffindor, Percy Strong who looked to be living up to his surname and was a Ravenclaw, and then both Weasley twins who were sorted as Gryffindors.

There were, of course, many other names of people in his year, but those were the names that ended up sticking in Merlin’s memory (for some reason).

As the last name was called the stool and hat was taken away and the headmaster stood. “I’m sure you are all eager for food, so I shall not keep you waiting. Tuck in!” he exclaimed and the golden plates filled before their eyes.

As they settled in for the feast, Merlin was very content to sit with Gwaine at his side. He had been so relieved when at least one of his new found friends had been sorted into the same house as him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t open to making more friends, but it was nice to have a familiar face, even if that face was only familiar from today.

“This is delicious!” Merlin cried with his mouth still half full of food. A few of the girls pulled faces at the display but Gwaine just laughed and agreed with him whole heartedly.

With Merlin so absorbed in his food it took him a while to notice the odd glances that the other students were throwing his way. And it wasn’t even just the first years; some of the older students were doing it too. But when he did notice it set him immediately on edge. His back stiffened and he straightened up in his seat. His entire body was tense.

Gwaine, obviously sensing the sudden change in the boy next to him, turned around enquiringly. “Something the matter, mate?” he asked with a confused frown.

Merlin turned to him with frantic eyes.  “Everyone keeps looking at me,” he said in a frantic whisper. He knew that he sounded pathetic and panicky but he didn’t understand. “Did I do something wrong and really obvious? They all keep glancing at me! It’s not like staring or anything, just weird looks. I don’t get it, Gwaine, what did I do?” Merlin was really getting himself worked up but he didn’t care to stop it. It hadn’t even been a full day and he was already drawing unwanted attention to himself. What was it about him that always made him the freak?

Gwaine stared at him for a moment, completely and utterly confused. And then he burst out laughing, right in Merlin’s face.

He scowled.

Gwaine just laughed harder. “Look, mate, don’t pout.” He was _not_ pouting. He was _scowling_. “And relax about the looks you’re getting, yeah? People are just curious; it isn’t anything malicious or anything like that.”

“This isn’t about the name thing is it?” Merlin asked, already fed up with his stupid name. He had put up with Harry’s light teasing about it for years, but that was just one person, not an entire school.

He just sighed and shook his head with an amused smile. It almost looked like he was indulging Merlin. He didn’t like it. “No, it’s not your name,” Gwaine chuckled. “Have you any idea how long that hat sat on your head for?” Merlin shook his head. “If I had to guess I’d say a good seven minutes. Muttering broke out after two.” Merlin’s eyes bugged. “People just wanna know what’s so special that you broke the hat’s record, it isn’t anything bad.”

Merlin nodded and looked down at his half empty plate. He was a little bit in shock to say anything. It hadn’t felt like that long talking to the sorting hat. Sure, they had had some minor disagreements on where to place him, and they spent a little time at the start getting used to the whole mind-reading thing, but it _really_ hadn’t felt nearly that long. And he remembered what the hat said about him fitting in all of the houses, maybe that’s why it took so long? Maybe he didn’t take into consideration every house for each student. Yes, Merlin remembered a few sortings (Arthur’s sorting jumped into his mind), where the hat barely touched their heads before their house was called. Okay, so maybe he was a little odd then.

If that was all that it was, the he could handle their staring.

* * *

The feast was officially over. After a weird enough speech from Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, to convince them all that he was mad, he sent everyone off to bed, being led by the house prefects.

At first they headed in the same direction as the Slytherins, both heading downstairs.  Eventually, though, the groups split off and Merlin and Gwaine sent a quick wave to Mithian as she followed her fellow Slytherins down a cold looking corridor. Somehow, the corridor they went down was made to look cosier by the torches in brackets instead of creepier. Merlin wasn’t really sure what the differences between the two corridors were, but they both gave off very different vibes.

Eventually the prefect led them to what looked like a very large lid of a barrel. He waited for everyone to have gathered ‘round before speaking. “This is the entrance to our common room,” he told them. People looked dubiously at the wooden barrel lid. “All of the other common rooms have passwords or riddles to get into their common rooms, we don’t. We’re Hufflepuffs and we accept all, so there’s nothing from stopping anyone from another house from entering. Helga Hufflepuff was the founder most known for promoting inter-house unity, so if any of you make friends with people from other houses, they are always welcome here,” he finished with a smile, before opening the door for them all.

With a smile on his face at the thought of still being able to stay close friends with Mithian, Merlin entered the common room. It was very . . . yellow.

There were yellow bricked walls; worn yellow sofas with patches and with the glow of the fire, all of the wooden furniture looked golden-yellow. You would think that it would be too bright or harsh on the eyes, but it just looked like the room glowed. There were also plants everywhere. Any space was taken up by some sort of greenery, Merlin loved it; he loved nature. There were high round windows that looked to be just above ground level, he was sure that in the morning with the sun streaming in, this place would look wonderful.

He loved his new home. And he loved that it was a place his mother had also once called home.

When they found their dorm rooms, Merlin found his suitcase at the end of his bed and a white kitten curled up in the centre of it. All they beds had wooden frames with yellow and black sheets and yellow hangings around each bed.

He happily curled up with Aithusa by his side, purring away. This was by far the comfiest bed that Merlin had ever slept in, but even still he couldn’t sleep. At first he thought it was the magic of Hogwarts. He could literally feel the power buzzing in the air, tingling across his skin, running through his veins. But it wasn’t that. He very soon realised that there were two words that seemed to be rotating through his mind . . .

Magic itself . . .

* * *

He was woken the next morning with fur wrapped around his neck. Aithusa had apparently thought that she would make a great scarf. Merlin, however, had to disagree, she was far too ticklish. As annoying as she was, Merlin was loath to mover her when she looked so cute, fast asleep like that. So, instead he just sighed reluctantly and turned his head to the side (hoping that the movement wouldn’t jostle her) to try and check the time.

It was 7:15. Lessons started at nine, Merlin knew it would probably take him about fifteen minutes to find his first lesson, and he wanted at least ten minutes to eat his breakfast, not to mention the ten minutes to make his way to the great hall, it would also take him twenty minutes to shower and get changed. That meant that he had to get out of bed at 8:05. This meant that he could leave Aithusa to sleep for fifty minutes more. He was certain that she would appreciate the extra time and he was happy to give it to her.

Okay, so he was weak when it came to his beloved kitten. But you could hardly blame him, she was adorable.

As Merlin dozed he felt his mind drift back to the words of the sorting hat, yesterday. He had called him ‘magic itself’. Now, Merlin didn’t exactly know what that was supposed to mean, but it sure sounded like a bit of a big deal. Maybe it wasn’t? What if he was just over thinking everything? Everyone at Hogwarts has magic, maybe they’re all magic itself . . . It was plausible. Kind of.

No it wasn’t, he chastened himself, it wasn’t at all. The hat had said it like it was important. He had told him he was the ‘embodiment of what Hogwarts stands for’. What the hell was that supposed to mean. Surely, again, any student with magic embodies Hogwarts, as Hogwarts was a school for magic. Why did the stupid hat have to be so bloody cryptic? It reminded him of . . . well he wasn’t sure who or what it reminded him of, but it was damn well familiar.

It wasn’t just being cryptic; it was that phrase, ‘young warlock’. He had never heard that before, he was certain. But still, he felt like he should recognise it, like there was a name just beyond his grasp that would provide answers to all of the questions the hat brought up. He had no idea what brought on this familiarity and the sense of certainty that this unknown could provide him with answers. He just knew with a certainty within his soul, like he had with the dragon beneath Gringotts . . .

What if what the hat had said had to do with his other magic? It had all started with that poor dragon, awoken something within his soul. And it was that same something which was calling out for that familiarity. Being ‘magic itself’ had to have something to do with his _other_ magic, he was sure of it now. He just had to find some sort of reasoning to back it all up, because gut feeling wasn’t going to cut it.

He sighed, realising that he had just given himself homework before any teacher had had the chance to. He really hoped that this place had a good library, because he would be seeing a lot of it.

Deciding that it was time to get up, despite the fact that he had a remaining five minutes of rest, should he want it, Merlin gently moved Aithusa from where she had curled up around his neck and placed her on the mattress beside him. She stretched and yawned from beside him, showing off her excessively sharp claws as she flexed and an array of pointed teeth that he knew she knew how to use (she had once bitten and then scratched Morgause as a gift to Merlin).

He threw is duvet off him and quickly grabbed his things before heading to the bathroom. He briefly debated whether or not he should wake Gwaine and make him get ready, he thought he’d let him sleep a little longer and if he wasn’t awake by the time Merlin had showered then he would do something about it.

He hated this part of the day. He hated getting changed. He hated that he could see the marks that Cenred left behind. It wasn’t even just the current bruising that covered his ribs and the fading yellow on his cheek, it was the faded scars. He hated that some of what Cenred had done to him would be there forever. He was marked, and he had to face all those marks and be confronted with the memory of how each one happened every morning and every night. He hated his marks. He hated Cenred. And he hated himself for letting it all happen.

And so Merlin faced a new morning in his new home with the same resentment and self-loathing that he had had to face every single other morning that he could remember.

And so he re-opened the bathroom door, steam from the shower following him out, and a fake smile set in place. The false cheer would be enough to fool any of his roommates should they be awake yet. It was a smile he had used successfully many a time to fool Harry into thinking that he was alright and unharmed. If it could work on the boy that he called a brother, it could work on four people who were practically strangers to him.

Only one of the boys was already awake, and Merlin couldn’t really remember his name, so he just nodded to him in greeting. Merlin glanced at the clock by his bed, seeing the time was 8:19 he decided that he would try and wake Gwaine, hoping that his new friend would appreciate the gesture of not letting him be late on his first day. Only . . . how was he supposed to go about waking up a stranger? He could open his bed curtains and hope that the light would be enough? He could shake him awake, but Merlin knew that _he_ would certainly hate being woken like that and he didn’t want to risk the same with his new friend. Deciding to just throw something seemed like the best plan (well, to Merlin anyway).

So, grabbing a pillow off his bed and chucking it towards Gwaine was exactly what Merlin did. He heard a muffled, “What the hell?” from behind the curtain, and decided that that would be a good time to blind Gwaine with light.

“Rise and shine!” Merlin said cheerily as he opened Gwaine’s bed curtains.

Gwaine groaned and rolled over, facing away from where Merlin was stood and was offending is eyes with daylight. “I just _knew_ you’d be an early riser,” he grumbled into Merlin’s pillow, which he had added to the collection of his own.

Merlin chuckled at him. He looked ridiculous with his bed hair and the pout that was currently on his face. “Come one, you’ve got to get up,” Merlin said with a laugh, “It’s almost twenty-five past eight, and if you want breakfast you’re gonna need to hurry!”

Gwaine jumped up at the sound of the word ‘breakfast’. So apparently he was one who thought with his stomach. Merlin wished he could relate, however a life of being given only scraps and left-overs of other people’s food meant that he was fine to go without it for a while. Merlin was still incredibly full from last night’s feast.

After Gwaine had gotten dressed they had followed some fifth years to the great hall, Gwaine’s stomach rumbling the entire way. After they had arrived, Gwaine ate a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, beans and sausage. And then he’d also grabbed an apple to go. Merlin gad gotten himself a slice of toast and jam, but he didn’t end up even eating half of it.

Half way through Gwaine’s banquet of a breakfast, a plump, short woman dressed in yellow robes with grey, curly, hair had come over to hand out everybody’s timetables. She had introduced herself as Professor Sprout, who was head of Hufflepuff. She didn’t spend long talking to them, as she had to give the timetables to everyone in their house, but from their brief interaction Merlin decided that he liked her. She had seemed genuine and kind.

Across at the Gryffindor table, Merlin’s eyes were drawn to a small group of boys, all of them laughing, and in the centre was a blond head of hair. They all seemed to be having fun, and they all looked very close for people who had only really known each other for a day. Merlin recognised a few faces from the sorting (and he was pretty sure that those were Mr Weasley’s sons as well), but he focused on the boy in the middle. This Arthur seemed a lot less mean when he was laughing and smiling like that. He had a nice smile, Merlin decided.

It was only for a split second that their laughter died down, and blue eyes looked across the room and met his own. He was expecting a scowl, or at least for Arthur to look away, but he didn’t. Really, it was Merlin who was the first one to back down. His eyes diverted to the table in front of him, still embarrassed about their meeting the day before.

And before Merlin could contemplate looking back up, Gwaine was nudging him, telling him that they needed to leave for Charms with the Slytherins, and to hurry up so that they could get a seat with Mithian.

And so as Merlin started his first day at Hogwarts, he didn’t really think much more of the blond Arthur who had a nice smile.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Merlin’s first two weeks at Hogwarts were good ones. It felt like it had been so long since he had had such a long period of time full of just pure enjoyment, he couldn’t remember a time when it had happened before. But in his first week, Merlin didn’t allow himself to dwell on the past. Hogwarts was all about new beginnings for him, and it had turned out to be a _great_ beginning.

He loved almost all of his classes.

Charms was great, it was really interesting and he loved that it was his chance to spend time with Mithian in lessons. Luckily, despite the house divide, both he had Gwaine had stayed close friends with Mithian. Charms was the only lesson that the three of them had together, but outside of classes they were as thick as thieves. Professor Flitwick was a _very_ short man, however his patience was so long that it seemed endless (several charms backfiring during lesson was the proof of that).

Defence Against the Dark Arts was brilliant, too. His professor, Professor Holton, was kind of old and at first seemed boring, but as they got into the subject she had proved to be full of life and clearly loved her subject. Her joy for the class ended up being infectious, and soon all of the students loved it as much as their teacher. They were with the Gryffindors for this class, and while Merlin didn’t interact with any of them much, he was building up the courage to talk to the Weasley twins about sending a letter to their father.

Potions was a mixed bag. While Merlin was very good at the subject - he seemed like he’d been making potions for years - and he enjoyed the part of actually creating the potions, the professor left a lot to be desired. Professor Snape was kind of cruel and seemed to hate all of his students. His reputation among the students was one of fear and hatred. Merlin knew that he was a bully, and Merlin couldn’t stand bullies. More than once he had had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something stupid that would anger the professor further. He seemed to take joy in critiquing his students work and offering no help in return. However, Merlin had made a new friend in that class. Lance Du Lac was a quiet Ravenclaw boy, who seemed friendly, if a bit shy, and incredibly kind. He had fit right in with Gwaine and Mithian.

Transfiguration was fantastic as well. McGonagall was a great teacher and didn’t seem to favour her own house over them, which relieved many of his fellow Hufflepuffs, who had heard rumours about teachers playing favourites. The lesson itself, while seeming complicated in theory, Merlin found incredibly easy. Truth be told, he had found all of his lessons easy. And he still didn’t quite know how, but he had known instinctively that the cat perched on the Professor’s desk was _not_ to be stroked, and not a cat at all. He was pretty sure that his eyes had flashed gold as he came to that conclusion, but he still didn’t quite understand what he had done.

But Herbology was by far Merlin’s absolute favourite. He wasn’t sure if it was because it was his head of house teaching him, or because he had always loved nature, or if it was because it was his best subject, but Merlin knew without a doubt that he loved it. He had earned his house many points, spouting facts and properties that he didn’t know he knew about herbs and plants that he had never even heard of before Hogwarts. Merlin had no idea where this well of knowledge about plants came from, but he and his house mates were thankful for it.

It was only really History of Magic that he didn’t like. First of all, it was taught be a ghost, which _really_ freaked Merlin out. It wasn’t the fact the he was a ghost that bothered Merlin (how could it be? Hogwarts was full of ghosts), no, it was the rumour about why he was still teaching that got to Merlin. He had once heard the Weasleys discussing in Herbology about how he supposedly died one day, didn’t even realise, and just kept on teaching as normal. The idea that someone could die without realising it kind of scared Merlin. Second of all, it was _boring_. That might seem like a childish reason, but damn it he was a child. Merlin had expected the class to be interesting, I mean, what doesn’t sound interesting about Goblin rebellions? But he was wrong. Professor Bins just went on and on. So Merlin usually spent that lesson passing notes between himself Gwaine and Lance.

Yes, Merlin loved almost all of his classes.

And it was on his way out of his most favourite class, Herbology, that he ran into his first real problem at Hogwarts. It also happened to be the same problem that he ran into on the train platform on his first day.

Arthur Pendragon.

He was harassing one of Merlin’s roommates, Morris, for apparently no reason. He was with a few second and third years, looking like he was trying to prove himself or something, but what they were doing was cruel. There were five of them, Arthur clearly leading, all surrounding poor Morris. His usual friends, Cedric and Sam, who Merlin also shared a room with, seemingly left lesson without him, as they were nowhere in sight. Pendragon and followers were taking turns pushing Morris between them and throwing his school bag over his head and out of his reach, passing it to one another.

Merlin felt his stomach twist. This was bullying. They were bullying him. Merlin had never been able to stand up to the bullies in his own life but that would not stop him now.

For a split second, when Merlin looked upon the scene, he didn’t see Morris and Arthur and his goons. Merlin saw himself. He saw himself surrounded by Cenred and Morgause and Mordred. He knew that this was different; he wasn’t an idiot, no matter what he had been told countless times. He knew that he wasn’t the one being targeted here, but it was still what he saw. Even if it was just for a second.

“Hey, c’mon, that’s enough,” Merlin said boldly, drawing their attention (mainly Arthur’s) to himself. But it wasn’t just them who stared at him, Gwaine did too. That wasn’t much of a surprise; in the time that Merlin had known Gwaine he had shown that he preferred to go under the radar, he hated attention. And yet, he had just brought himself to the centre of it.

“What?” Arthur asked incredulously, obviously not expecting to be stood up to.

“You’ve had your fun, my friend.” Merlin tried to be non-confrontational, he really did. He tried to call Arthur _friend_ , even though he was being a giant prat. He really wasn’t looking for a fight. Beside him, Gwaine snorted at his tactics.

“Do I know you?” Arthur asked. He turned away from Morris then, trying to look intimidatingly at Merlin. He could see his friend biting back a smile.

“I’m Merlin,” he tries to introduce; holding out his had to be shaken. It reminded him of when he stood on a train platform, offering a blond boy he just knocked over and hand up.

And just like the occasion before, it was rejected. “So I don’t know you,” Arthur said, looking haughtily at the offered hand.

“Well I did crash into you on a train platform,” Merlin muttered under his breath, not loud enough for Arthur to hear, as he didn’t really think it would help the situation at all. It was, however, loud enough for Gwaine, who once again snorted at Merlin. He tried not to roll his eyes at his friend.

“And yet you call me friend . . .” Arthur carried on, oblivious to Merlin’s interjection.

He looked threateningly at Merlin, enough so that he felt Gwaine tense beside him. Merlin had to fight the instinct to run and cower, to oblige to his old rules and apologise for everything and nothing, to hide behind Gwaine, who was clearly stronger and more fearless than he. But he didn’t do that, not any of them. He couldn’t. Not this time. Because this time he wasn’t fighting for himself. Because this time it wasn’t Cenred in front of him. It was Arthur. And Arthur Pendragon may be a bully, but he had nothing on the bullies that Merlin had been dealing with for years.

“You’re right,” Merlin said with a false calm settling over him. His face was a mask of deadly seriousness. “I'd never have a friend who could be such an ass.”

Gwaine chocked on air. The small crowd that had gathered at the impending altercation all gasped lightly, theirs eyes widening in shock (it was rare to hear a first year swear, after all). The threatening smirk that had worked its way on to Arthur’s face fell at that moment. He glanced worried behind him, obviously searching for backup. Merlin was glad to see that his followers were not getting involved and that Morris had used his distraction to run off.

“Y- you can’t address me like that!” Merlin raised his eyebrows at Pendragon; his expression was clearly a question saying ‘why not?’ He was outraged. Confused as well, Merlin thought, it seemed like no one had ever stood up to Arthur Pendragon before. “Have you any idea who my father is?” He laughed derisively at them, “I’m the son of _Uther Pendragon_!”

Gwaine laughed and shook his head at Arthur. Coming from a pureblood family, Merlin trusted him to know what he was talking about. “That name might mean something in the muggle world, Princess,” Gwaine snickered, “but you’re in the wizarding world now; your father’s name doesn’t mean anything here. And even if you were from a pureblood family, that wouldn’t mean that you can bully who you want.”

Merlin smiled at his friend. He had made no remark before that, and Merlin had thought that maybe Gwaine didn’t think he was doing the right thing, but his support then was enough for Merlin.

With one last glare in both of their directions (more at Gwaine than Merlin, probably because he’d called him ‘ _princess_ ’), Arthur stormed off, but not before pushing Merlin to the ground as he stormed past them. Merlin was shocked that Arthur had used brute force rather than a spell to push past them, then again, it was clear that Pendragon had been raised by muggles. Despite Gwaine’s obvious wish to punch Arthur in the nose, he decided that checking on Merlin would be more important. In his hasty escape, Arthur didn’t realise that he brushed past one Professor McGonagall, who looked livid.

Her lips were compressed into a thin line. “Mr Emrys, Mr Orkney, my office please.”

Gwaine helped Merlin stand. He was not oblivious to the way that Merlin held his side slightly as they trailed after the Professor.

However, as they walked, Merlin’s mind was not on his aching ribs (which had still not recovered from the bruising left there by Cenred on his departure from Privet drive). No, his thoughts were on the arrogant prat who had pushed him over. He couldn’t believe that he once thought that . . . that . . . that _clotpole_ had a nice smile. What the hell was he thinking? Arthur Pendragon was clearly a pompous idiot and a complete and utter prat.

* * *

The pair of them sat on wooden chairs in front of McGonagall’s large desk, feeling quite small. Her angry and disappointed glare was definitely something to cower from. She hadn’t said much to them, just instructed them to sit down while they waited for Professor Sprout and Pendragon to arrive, and then she just sat staring at them with her arms crossed.

Merlin, at least, looked ashamed at being dragged into the deputy-head’s office. Gwaine, however, had the gall to look totally unabashed. He was sat there with a small smirk on his face while Merlin altered between looking down at his hands and staring at his friend in horror. He hadn’t known Gwaine for long, but it was long enough for Merlin to gather that he was a trouble maker, and that meant that this situation wasn’t anything new to him.

When Professor Sprout came in with Arthur Pendragon the atmosphere was tense. And when she turned her disappointed gaze on the two of them, that was when Gwaine finally looked a tiny bit guilty.

_Pendragon_ , though, didn’t look the tiniest bit cowed. He strut past Professor Sprout and took the empty seat next to Merlin, not once looking at anyone in the room, just keeping his head high and a sneer fixed on his face. There was a long silent moment where Professor McGonagall glared solely at her house member, without eliciting any reaction from him, her lips becoming a thinner and thinner line by the second.

“Right,” Professor Sprout said, breaking the steadily building tension in the room. “Which one of you boys want to tell us exactly what happened?” She moved past them, so that she stood beside McGonagall, behind the desk.

Immediately, Gwaine and Pendragon went off on their own tangents. Arthur was entirely blaming Merlin, Gwaine was entirely blaming Arthur. Merlin thought it best to keep his mouth shut this time, seeing as it was what got him into this mess in the first place.

He couldn’t believe he had gone against his rules like that. He knew, rationally, that those were intended to help him survive Cenred, not just any bully that he came across. But how could he be so stupid? What if this was one of those schools whose punishments were physical? He had just escaped that life, and now he might have just thrust himself into a similar situation all over again.

Merlin hadn’t noticed while he was sorting through his inner turmoil, but the voices coming from either side of him had been growing louder and louder, just like the voice in his head had started screaming what a mess he’d made of things. Yet, somehow, Professor McGonagall managed to put a stop to all of the voices at once.

“Enough!” she shouted, resulting in shutting both Gwaine’s and Pendragon’s mouths shut. There was silence for a few seconds before she turned to Merlin. “Mr Emrys, you seem quiet about the whole situation. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Merlin swallowed nervously, as he heard Pendragon’s annoyed huff from next to him. He looked anxiously at Professor McGonagall, before moving his gaze to Sprout’s encouraging smile.

“Pendragon and some others - I don’t know who they are - looked like they were picking on Morris. I don’t know him very well, but he looked like he needed some help. I asked them - mainly Pendragon - to leave him alone, and it sort of escalated from there. He was being really obnoxious, so I- I- I called him an ass.” Merlin winced as he admitted it. It really wasn’t sounding good for him. “Um, Arthur got defensive and mentioned his father - that was when Gwaine got involved, told him his family name didn’t entitle him to treating others badly. Then Pendragon shoved past us and then we notice _you_ , Professor, had caught the end of what happened.”

Merlin was proud of himself. He’d stayed reasonable calm, and managed to tell the story honestly casting all of them in a fair light. He didn’t even think that Pendragon could deny any of what he said. He was sure he had been fair.

When he looked, he saw both boys nod to the Professors, confirming his story to them both.

“I see,” said Professor McGonagall. “In that case, I think I’ll take fifteen house points each for starting an altercation, and detention for Pendragon and Emrys, Pendragon for bullying and Emrys for foul language. Pomona?”

Professor Sprout nodded, “Yes, Minerva I think that is a fitting punishment. And I believe Severus needs someone to clean out some of his cauldrons.”

Merlin tried to focus on the fact that it was weird to hear teachers use each other’s first names, than the relief sweeping through him at the fact that he wasn’t going to get beaten. Even the thought of detention with both Snape _and_ Pendragon, couldn’t stop the relieved breath he released.

With the weight of his fear being lifted from his shoulders, his body made him uncomfortably aware of the pain in his side. He figured he must have landed on it funny when Pendragon pushed past him. However, he couldn’t bring himself to really blame the other boy, knowing that it was mostly what was left over from Cenred’s goodbye gift.

“Boys report to Professor Snape’s office this Saturday at midday for detention.” Merlin and Arthur nodded. “You’re dismissed, but Mr Emrys stay a moment.”

Arthur got up and walked out without sparing any of them a glance. Gwaine got up to leave much slower, sending Merlin a questioning look, to which he shrugged in confusion. But what was more unnerving was that was that Professor Sprout was confused about what was going on as well.

Once the other two had left the office, both Merlin and his head of house looked to Professor McGonagall for some sort explanation. For whatever reason, it put a hesitant look on her face, something that seemed entirely out of place on the usually confident and composed Professor. She managed to shake the look off quickly, but Merlin had seen it and it filled him with a sense of dread.

“Professor, what is this about?” he asked nervously, his entire frame had tensed up.

She gave him a rare smile, and that calmed him a little. “I wanted to see if you needed to see Madame Pomfrey, the schools nurse; you were holding your side as if you were in pain,” she said simply.

Merlin felt himself tense up again. His gut instinct was to deny everything and blurt out a symphony of false assurances and flat out lies. Cenred had taught him that people asking questions were never a good thing. Anyone who went to Cenred with concern over Merlin was ignored and Merlin was given some more creative punishments. He had learned to just deny any harm or injury to adults who might make their way back to his uncle.

But before he could start shaking his head and sprouting denials, McGonagall carried on speaking. “I saw Mr Pendragon shove you, and thought it may have been a little harsher than I had first thought if you were in some degree of pain.” The way she said had Merlin feeling anxious. It was a perfectly valid thought process, but Merlin knew she had picked up some of what was going on from when she visited him at home. He didn’t trust this. He didn’t trust _her_.

“N- No,” he said, haltingly, “I’m fine.” She narrowed her eyes at him disbelievingly, and even Professor Sprout had a concerned look on her face. “It’s probably just a small bruise,” he said in a compromise. She had seen his pain, there was no getting out of that, now he just had to try and play it down as much as possible. He couldn’t believe his mistake. He’d had years of practice at hiding this stuff from teachers and classmates, when he was doing this properly only Harry could see through it, but he’d somehow forgotten all of his lessons and rules.

“If it’s just a small bruise then I’m sure Madame Pomfrey will fix it with no problem,” McGonagall said reasonable, but there was a gleam in her eyes that showed victory. It was a look he’d seen in Cenred’s eyes after some particularly damaging work. He hated the comparison.

Before he’d realised it, he was out of his chair and slowly backing away, shaking his head frantically. He couldn’t. _They_ couldn’t. Cenred would know, he’d find out. Then he’d be taken away from Hogwarts. No! They couldn’t, he wouldn’t let them!

He felt his breathing getting shallower and shallower.

He finally felt safe here, why did they have to ruin it? Things were fine! He was happy. Gwaine was making him safe. He could use his magic without being worried about the consequences. He wasn’t always looking over his shoulder for danger. He was busy ducking and dodging every limb coming his way. He was _happy_. They were ruining it. Why were they ruining it?

He hadn’t quite realised that he had was slumped on the floor with his back to the wall, but he knew he had tears in his eyes. He felt a hand close around his shoulder and it was when he tried to moving backwards away from it that his head slammed into the wall. He bit his lip to stop from crying out. Cenred didn’t like him making too much noise (it might alert the neighbours, he was always told. Not the Dursleys of course, they couldn’t have cared less about what happened to him).

He felt someone grab his hands, obviously trying to calm him down, anchoring him to something outside of his own head, but it wasn’t working. The gentle hands around his just felt like manacles, they were suffocating him, he couldn’t breathe. He just wanted everyone to leave him alone, he wanted to be able to breathe again. It was like, the closer they were, the more of his air they were using up. Just their presence was choking him.

He just needed them _away_.

His eyes flashed a solid gold and he knew nothing more.

* * *

Minerva didn’t know what to do when Merlin started panicking. She had seen him react similarly a few times when he was grabbed rather suddenly and needed convincing that he was safe, but it was nothing compared to this. At least she had some reference for it, Pomona was thrown in the deep end, poor woman.

She didn’t even know what had set him off. She had only suggested him going to visit Poppy for a check-up. A part of her had been convinced that there would be physical evidence of his abuse at home, and that would give her the evidence to take it to the headmaster and have the child removed from his uncle. She knew there was no way for him to talk his way out of it, she had seen an opportunity and taken it. It was all done in the boy’s best interest and she had no idea how it had backfired.

She was fairly certain that it was a panic attack that Merlin had gone into. And no matter what they tried, no gentle touches or reassuring words from Pomona, none of it had helped at all. If anything they had made things worse.

But by the time they had realised their mistake and were trying to back away, the noticed the furniture in the room and the windows and started rattling and shifting slightly. This had greatly alarmed them both, that he was in a state enough to perform wandless magic. But Minerva had known better, she had checked, and seen the boy’s eyes flickering between blue and gold. Neither colour was consistent for anything serious to happen, but the effect was visible.

Minerva had sent a patronus to Dumbledore, urgently, telling him of the situation and to hurry down. He next move would have been to sedate the child with magic but she didn’t get that far.

His eyes flashed a solid gold and she knew nothing more.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

When Merlin woke up his head hurt. Actually, everything hurt. There was a dull ache across his entire body and a sharp stabbing pain in the back of his head.

The first conclusion he drew was Cenred. This idea, however, was discarded quickly; it was too different. Usually, there was a concentrated amount of pain in several different places, and then a general ache everywhere else. But there was currently only a real pain in his head, and Cenred was not one to stop so quickly after so little damage. But, then again, he couldn’t really remember what had happened, so maybe there was damage enough.

He realised after a few short moments that he didn’t even live with Cenred anymore, he was at Hogwarts. This led him to his second conclusion, that he had pissed off the wrong student or the wrong teacher and this was what he had earned himself. Dread formed in his stomach as he thought _what if it was Gwaine?_ _They spent enough time together, it would be easy for him to just drag Merlin away from any crowds (he would probably have thought nothing of it) and then he could do as he pleased._

He wanted to deny it instantly. He wanted to tell himself that they were friends, and friends wouldn’t do that to each other. But then, family wasn’t supposed to do that to each other either. Maybe he just had that effect on people. He had spent too much time with Gwaine and this was his punishment.

He hated the tears trailing down his face. He hated that he had allowed himself to believe he deserved a real friendship. He was _stupid_. He had known, he had _always_ known, that he couldn’t rely on anyone but Harry. Why had he let himself ever believe otherwise?

Part of him was still screaming that he didn’t know that it was Gwaine, that he didn’t know why he was hurt. There could be a million explanations. And, yes, there could be, but Merlin’s mind had already latched on to the most likely one.

He opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness. It was obviously night time, but that didn’t help him figure out how long he had been unconscious, seeing as he had no idea what had happened in the first place.

Deciding to just shut his eyes and deal with everything in the morning, Merlin fell asleep. And if he cried himself to sleep, well it was dark, who could see the tears on his cheeks anyway?

* * *

When Merlin woke up next there was enough light filtering the high windows for him to observe his surroundings properly. It looked like he was in some kind of hospital, probably the school’s infirmary. He could see that all of the other beds in the large room were unoccupied.

Now that he could see properly, he took the opportunity to assess any injuries. There were no new bruises that he could see, and nothing felt broken or sprained. The only thing that made him certain something had happened at all was the lingering ache in the back of his head and his subsequent memory loss.

He hadn’t managed to do more than sit up and throw his legs around the side of the bed before a woman came bustling over to him, ranting about how he should be careful and how he shouldn’t be getting out of bed yet. In one simple move she had him turned around, lying down again and a glass of water in his hand.

“What happened?” he asked cautiously. He remembered the conclusions that he had drawn up last night, but he was reassuring himself that those ideas had come from his panic and disorientation, he would not believe them without some sort of proof or his own memories backing it up.

He saw her eyes narrow slightly, probably making a mental note of his memory loss, before she answered, “Drink first, questions later.” She had said it in a tone that brooked no argument, no doubt used to stubborn patients. Merlin decided to just do as she asked, hoping it would give him his answers sooner.

He downed the glass in one go, then wiped the side of his mouth on his pyjama sleeve (he took a moment to wonder if someone had had to change him out of his school robes and into his pyjamas before dismissing the thought, deciding that he didn’t want to know).

“What happened?” he asked again.

She gave him a disapproving frown, obviously not appreciating his rush for answers, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He _needed_ to know what had happened. The longer he was left in the dark, the worse the situations were that his mind conjured up. He’d gotten as far as imagining Cenred breaking into Hogwarts and coming after him in the middle of a Herbology lesson, all because he’s missed his favourite punching bag. He knew that he was being irrational (if only for the fact that if that was the case he would be in a lot more pain), but he couldn’t bring his mind to pause and think clearly.

“There was an incident in Professor McGonagall’s office,” she answered curtly. “You, and both Professors Sprout and McGonagall were unconscious when the headmaster arrived, and the room was in chaos. Both Professors awoke quickly and have spoken to the headmaster about what happened, I have not been privy to the specifics of the situation, only been informed that you had a panic attack before being rendered unconscious.”

Merlin breathed deeply a few times, suspicions already forming in his mind. He said a quick, “Thank you,” and accepted the second glass of water she gave him without comment, drinking this one noticeably slower.

A few of the things she said sounded familiar to him. He remembered being in the office and the spat he’d had with Arthur Pendragon beforehand. He also remembered feeling panicked and overwhelmed, but he couldn’t remember the reason for it, nor could he remember how that had resulted in his unconsciousness.

He had the idea that maybe the Professors had knocked him out to keep him calm, but that didn’t explain how the Professors had ended up being unconscious. And he had no idea why they would both recover so much faster than he had, assuming that it was the same thing that had caused them all to lose consciousness.

But despite his on-going confusion, Merlin couldn’t help the relief that flooded him. He knew he had been in hysterics when he had awoken the night before, his mind going to Gwaine, of all people, to blame. He was so relieved that his panic-fuelled thoughts had been proved wrong. Now all he was left with was a heavy layer of guilt. How could he have assumed that of his friend? Gwaine had done nothing to give the idea he was getting fed up of Merlin or that he was remotely violent. He felt sick to his stomach; the relief was quickly being replaced by shame.

Merlin decided that he would definitely leave this incident out of his next letter to Harry.

They had been exchanging letters once a week, since he had started at Hogwarts. Harry had heard all about his teachers, his classes, his friends (and just about everything else really). He had tried asking what was going on back in Little Whinging but his questions had always been ignored, the returning letters just full of questions about magic and life at Hogwarts. Merlin had tried to reassure himself that no news was good news, and that surely Harry would have told him if things there were worse than normal. And then Merlin though on his own stubbornness to leave his incident out of their letters and decided that perhaps Harry’s reluctance to talk about home spoke for itself.

Too caught up in his own worrying thoughts, he hadn’t realised the presence of another until someone cleared their throat pointedly.

Merlin looked over, to the side of his bed, to see the headmaster watching him with curiosity. Merlin felt himself blush under the scrutiny. He was once again drawn to those eyes that reminded him so much of his own, full of some sort of understanding that - ironically - Merlin didn’t understand.

“S- Sorry,” he stuttered out, belatedly, only then realising that he had just silently stared at the man for far too long to be considered comfortable, “I was just thinking.”

“No matter,” Professor Dumbledore said with a kind smile, “I, too, often find myself too caught up in my own thoughts to notice the goings on around me. “

Merlin nodded and smiled falsely, for some reason feeling on edge. “Is there something I can help you with, Professor?” he asked, not managing to effectively hide his anxiousness.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I wish to discuss with you the events that occurred in Professor McGonagall’s office yesterday.”

Merlin felt himself tense up. "Right," he said hollowly. He had known that this wasn't exactly a social call, but he was hoping he could put off any sort of interrogation until he at least remembered what actually happened.

"There was incredibly powerful magic at work yesterday and, based on what your Professors McGonagall and Sprout told me, you were the cause of it. Now this isn't the first time I've been told of your powerful and out of control magic, Merlin, there was something about Gringotts and a dragon, I believe," he said calmly.

Merlin felt his breathing hitch and his heart stutter, a thousand denials on the tip of his tongue. All of them were stopped by Dumbledore casually waving his hand through the air in between them, in a throw-away gesture. He took a few deep breaths before simply saying, quietly, "I don't know what happened, sir."

"That does not surprise me, Merlin," Dumbledore said, as he rested one of his hands over Merlin's (which he hadn't realised were shaking), "especially since I'm not entirely certain of what happened, myself."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Merlin wasn't an idiot, he had heard his classmates talking about how Albus Dumbledore was supposed to be one of the most powerful wizards of their time. And . . . somehow . . . he didn't know what was happening to Merlin?

"But . . . you said it was powerful magic," Merlin started - deciding that, for now, he was going to ignore that it was _him_ doing this powerful magic. "And, well, you're powerful," he continued awkwardly, "shouldn't you, y'know, _know_."

The Headmaster chuckled softly, but Merlin could read the fear of the unknown that was present in his eyes. "Yes, I should."

They sat in a tense silence for a short while. Merlin just couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Dumbledore was stumped. This was a man who had been teaching for years, far longer than Merlin had even been alive, and even he didn't know what was wrong with Merlin.

Albus didn't know what to think. The boy, this _child_ , had displayed more power than he had seen in his life. He was stronger than both the powers of Voldemort and Grindelwald combined, and he had hardly come into his powers yet.

He could either be a great ally or a terrible enemy.

Albus had taken that gamble before, he had sworn to keep an eye on Tom Riddle, and in the end he had still been unable to stop his rise to power. His own incompetency had been the cause of his reign of terror. Albus couldn't allow that to happen for a second time.

But this child in front of him, he had no malice in him. He was alone and scared in a world that (if Minerva was correct) had only ever mistreated him, and he had yet to show even an ounce of darkness. Yes, he had the potential to be someone terrible, but right now, he was just a lost little boy.

"Merlin," he said, startling the boy out of his own head, "I will find a way to help you control whatever this is," he promised. "I just need to find out what it is. What can you tell me about it?"

He saw the boy pause, considering. "It started with the dragon," he began quietly. "Sh- She was chained up and hurting, and I could feel her crying out to me . . . she was in so much pain. She kept asking, begging, for me to help her. I tr- I _tried_ to, but the Professor kept holding me back. Every hurt she had, every pain she felt - I felt it too. It was like my soul was burning."

Albus hadn't realised until the child stopped, but the more he spoke, the more he remembered, the more pain he felt, the more a steady wind built up in the infirmary. There was nothing to notice at first, just a breeze, as if a window had been left open. Then it was more. It kept building until it whipped the hair around their heads. And when he looked back at the boy, his eyes were blue - rimmed with gold.

"I wanted to help her, I _needed_ to," he carried on, oblivious to his headmaster's awe. "I don't even know what I did; I just needed the pain to stop. I- I remember feeling, sort of, free, like I was flying. It didn't feel like it at the time, I was so wrapped up in another creature's torture, but I remember now. It was like I had let go of something I've been clinging to my entire life. I felt exhausted afterwards, completely drained, but I felt lighter than I ever had been before." He looked directly at Albus then, for the first time in the entire conversation, and he was struck by how familiar they were. "Do you understand?" he asked quietly. As he calmed down, the wind calmed with him.

"Not quite," he answered honestly. "But I did notice that as you spoke about what happened, you performed this magic again, your eyes had started to turn gold, did you realise?" The boy shook his head.

It was interesting. Interesting that he could do so much without even realising it. It happened often in muggleborn children, who had no idea of magic, never mind how to recognise it. But for a child who’s known about magic for most of their life, and to have been studying it for several weeks already, it shouldn't have been possible. Accidental magic was something that might still happen for a few years to come for some children (even then it's rare and only in emotional circumstances), but this was far too different. It was as if they were dealing with a completely different type of magic.

. . . And what was it that he had said about the dragon? Yes, he might be on to something there.

"Merlin, I have an idea but I don't want to get your hopes up," he said carefully. "I will look into this and you should try to relax, I believe strong emotions may trigger the magic." He was halfway out of the door before he turned around to say, "Oh, and don't forget about your detention with Professor Snape."

Albus debated with himself as he left, as to whether or not he should have explained more about his idea. The Emrys line was known to have once been Dragonlords, if such a thing ever existed, and it was only the dragons that still lived off the Old Magic. Well, perhaps, the dragons, and one little boy.

As he walked down the corridor, he realised that he hadn’t managed to broach the subject of the boy’s home life, as Minerva had asked of him. But, then again, with such strong magic being tied solely to the child’s emotions, perhaps it was better to avoid the subject for now -  at least until the child had started to learn some control over his gifts.

* * *

After his talk with the headmaster and the incident in McGonagall’s office, Merlin had expected his life at Hogwarts to have changed somewhat. It didn’t.

No one seemed to have noticed anything had changed at all. Students thought that the catastrophe in McGonagall’s office had been a spell gone wrong and both her and Professor Sprout had just been caught in the backlash. Everyone knew that there had been a student there as well, but nobody seemed to know - or care – who it was.

That is, other than Gwaine and Mithian. They were his friends, so of course they had noticed his absence for a day and a half. Luckily lessons had been over for the week by that point, so none of his classmates had figured anything out. And his absence in their dormitory had just been explained away as him getting to bed late and waking up early, luckily Merlin had always been an early riser, so it wasn’t that much of a stretch for his house mates to believe.

But Gwaine was relentless. Merlin couldn’t really explain what had actually happened in the office, especially since he was still rather confused about the whole matter, even with his memory returned. His friend, however, could not take no for an answer. Mithian had tried to get him to back off, it hadn’t worked very well.

_“He’s our friend, we should know!”_

_“Then respect your friend’s privacy!”_

_“Friends shouldn’t have secrets, Mith!”_

_“He’s barely known us a month, give him time!”_

_“Guys, please.”_

It had technically been their first argument, and he had hated that it he had been the cause of it. After that, Gwaine had changed his tactics to only asking when Mithian wasn’t around to criticize him. That still left him most of the time to bug Merlin about what had happened. There had been several nights where Merlin (and presumably their other roommates) had found himself unable to sleep because of Gwaine’s non-stop chatter. He had, at one point, thought that the tactics had changed into annoying him into submission. He had tried just making something up to satisfy his friend, but he had always been a pretty terrible liar.

Merlin didn’t think, looking back on his detention with Snape, that he would see it as a reprieve. It most certainly hadn’t felt like it at the time.

He had only been out of the infirmary for about an hour or so, he had quickly stopped to have lunch and been briefly interrogated by Gwaine, before rushing off for his midday detention. And the last thing he’d needed after that whirlwind of a morning was an afternoon with Arthur Pendragon. But, alas, he had no say in the matter, and he was hardly going to skip a detention just because of that.

If Merlin was completely honest with himself, it wasn’t really Pendragon that he was worried about. Sure, he was a prat, and he had shoved Merlin the other day, but he felt like the least of his troubles. No, the problem was Snape.

He knew that it was unlikely that they would allow a teacher to strike on of the students at Hogwarts, but he also knew that if anybody seemed capable of it, it was Snape. He had decided on a very simple plan for this detention: keep his mouth shut. As much as he hated the idea of it, Merlin thought, when Snape was involved, it might be a good idea to employ the rules he had with Cenred.

It was odd, really. Merlin was good at potions, so he had never really had any troubles with the Professor. And he knew, even if he weren’t in their potions class, that Snape tended to save his real bigotry for the Gryffindors. Merlin hadn’t been shouted at or scolded by the Potions Master at all. But still . . . there was just something about the man that freaked Merlin out. It was as if he could sense this odd darkness to him.

So caught up in his musings on Severus Snape, Merlin didn’t manage to catch himself before walking directly into Arthur Pendragon’s back. And it was only a hand clenching around his upper-arm that stopped him from losing his balance entirely. And it was that same hand closed around him that caused him to panic blindly, throwing the other person’s hand off and hurling himself as far away from the offending hand, and its owner, as possible.

And that was how he ended up flat on his ass, in a deserted corridor, with Pendragon looking at him as if he was a lunatic.

“Still as incompetent as ever, I see,” he remarked in a dead-pan voice. Well, as dead-pan as one can sound with a voice crack in the middle of their sentence. Merlin managed himself a small smile before he had his classmate’s glare turned on him.

“And still as much as a prat as ever,” Merlin shot back, pushing himself up off the floor and brushing down any dust from his robes.

“Yeah, well, at least I’m not -”

“Still bullying, Pendragon?” A voice drawled from the previously empty doorway, “Now that won’t do. Fifteen points from Gryffindor, now both of you, get inside.” There was a cruel smirk in place on his face as he watched Arthur physically bite back a retort or even try to defend himself.

A small part of Merlin wanted to speak up, tell the Professor that it wasn’t _just_ Arthur’s fault, but he _had_ started. He opened his mouth to say something but he was greeted by Snape’s single enquiring eyebrow and that cruel smile turned on him, and then he remembered his rules and decided that silence was probably the best way to go about this.

 

He shut his mouth and walked through the doorway, ready to face the next few hours of torture.

* * *

 

Arthur didn’t really know what to think of this Emrys character.

The kid was weird, anyone could see that. And he was definitely clumsy, unfortunately Arthur had been greeted with that aspect of his personality more times than he would have liked. He was certainly brave, as well, Arthur was clearly much bigger than him, and yet he hadn’t hesitated to stand up for that other Hufflepuff. And there was that weird thing with the sorting hat as well, as if he was something special.

And what the hell was that when Arthur tried to stop him falling over, and he just flipped out? That was hardly normal behaviour. And speaking of not-normal, Arthur _knew_ he was behind whatever happened in Professor McGonagall’s office. There were three of them in their, then he and that half-wit, Gwaine, leave and a few minutes later someone says that the office was blown to bits and two staff members and a student are unconscious. Arthur’s no idiot.

Although, he doesn’t _look_ like he was just knocked on conscious yesterday, even if he has knocked himself onto his own ass.

He was just so many different things, Arthur had no idea what to think of him as.

“Still as incompetent as ever, I see.” It didn’t come out as smooth as he wanted, and he prayed to God that Emrys hadn’t noticed his voice crack. If that smile he was failing to hide was anything to go by, he had. Arthur glared at him until he stopped.

“And still as much of a prat as ever!”

Did Arthur forget to mention rude. And sarcastic, and idiotic, and pratish – yeah, _he_ was the _prat_ – and a thousand other things that were most certainly not positive.

“Yeah, well, at least I’m not -”

“Still bullying, Pendragon? Now that won’t do. Fifteen points from Gryffindor, now both of you, get inside.”

A small part of Arthur was glad at being interrupted by Snape, since he really didn’t have an end to that insult. But the majority of him wanted to shout and curse that they had both been arguing, and that it wasn’t _just_ him. Wisely, Arthur bit back his defence and let his shoulders slump as he made his way into the potion’s classroom.

When Arthur looked over his shoulders he saw Emrys’s eyes dart from him to Snape, he looked like he was debating whether or not to speak up for _him_. And even though he decided not to, that was a lot more than Arthur would have done if the shoe was on the other foot.

Perhaps this _Mer_ lin wasn’t so bad after all. And well, his smile, even when it had been at his expense, was kind of nice . . .

But he was still an idiot.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super long gap in posting. I've been kind of useless, but the continued support and Kudos have been amazing to see, so thank you all very much. And enjoy this very late chapter.

**Chapter Eight**

Okay, so maybe detention wasn't that bad. Maybe, and just maybe, it didn't turn out half as bad as Merlin expected it would. And that's not to say it was good, only that Merlin had incredibly low expectations of how his day would go.

After Snape ushered them into the classroom, Merlin could feel Arthur's eyes burning holes in the back of his head. It wasn't a particularly comfortable feeling.

"There will be absolutely no talking, and certainly no fighting," Snape began, after they had taken their seats. "For today's detention you will be scrubbing cauldrons. Most mixtures are completely harmless, however you should clean your scrubbing brush when changing cauldrons; mixing the potions may be dangerous." The professor continued to drone on about the one thousand and one rules he had in place during detention and Merlin listened half-heartedly not wanting to get caught out and land himself in more trouble.

Snape long droning voice kind of made Merlin want to doze off, and he could see that he wasn't the only one fighting that particular struggle. By the dazed look on Pendragon's face, he certainly wasn't winning that particular fight.

The work itself was incredibly dull. They were forced to clean without the aid of magic, not that either of them would even know any spells for it this earlier in their Hogwarts careers. In any case, it took a lot longer than it could have done for Snape to just spell them clean. Eventually, even Professor Snape got bored and just left them to it.

He strode out of the room purposefully, not sparing a glance at either boy.

An awkward silence spread through the room now that Snape's imposing presence, being the only thing one could possibly notice, was gone. Merlin tried to send a timid smile over to the other boy's way but Pendragon wasn't looking at him. Merlin couldn't quite decide if he was being ignored or if the other was just completely oblivious. One meant Pendragon was a prat, the other meant he was an idiot, so either way it was a win in Merlin's book.

They carried on like that for quite some time, Arth- Pendragon looking half asleep while scrubbing cauldrons and Merlin quietly observing while getting on with his share of the workload. Pendragon looked like he hadn't cleaned a day in his life; even Merlin could see from a few tables across that half of his cauldrons still had traces of potions left behind in them.

The monotony was interrupted by Merlin's senses going haywire. He had, over time, developed a sense of coming danger that had proven itself to be infinitely useful in the years past. It was a skill born out of necessity. Merlin had no idea what could have set him so on edge. He glanced around checking to see if perhaps Professor Snape had returned silently and unwittingly made him anxious, but there was nothing. He could find no cause for his 'funny feeling'.

Until . . .

There was the tiniest sound. A sort of fizzing. He could just barely hear it. Any other time he would have dismissed it for his imagination or something insignificant, but combined with his need for alertness, he knew something was wrong. It was very slowly yet steadily getting louder

"Do you hear that?" Merlin asked in a harsh whisper.

Pendragon jumped out of is dazed state and turned to look at Merlin both irritated and patronizing. "The potion fumes must be getting to your head." He rolled his eyes and got back to his lackadaisical cleaning.

"These aren't giving off any . . . fumes!" Merlin exclaimed, looking and the purple gas starting to rise from Pendragon's cauldron as he steadily ignored that and the fizzing sound which had gotten much louder. But Merlin was right; it certainly shouldn't have been giving off any sorts of vapours. His eyes quickly zeroed in on the scrubbing brush in Pendragon's hand that looked like it hadn't once been cleaned off since the start of the detention.

The fizzing sound got noticeably louder, now interspersed with pops. Merlin saw Pendragon's face go all scrunched up and confused, before his senses went off the scale. He found himself shouting, "Get down!" and practically tackling Arthur to the floor, landing the both about a metre and a half away, as the cauldron and the place surrounding it exploded in a mass of purple and orange flames and smokes.

"You saved my life!" Arthur shouted, Merlin still on top of him. Merlin was gracious enough not to comment on the voice crack that happened at the end of his sentence. He looked awkwardly down at the other boy, realising suddenly how closely pressed together they were. He quickly tensed and rolled himself off to the side.

"Well . . ." Merlin started uneasily, "I don't really think I saved your life, y'know, just maybe a trip to the hospital wing."

Arthur's gaze darted from Merlin's face to the bench and table, which was currently on fire, incredulously. "I don't think a quick trip to the school nurse would help if I had been bloody blown up!"

Merlin swallowed nervously, uncomfortable with someone's attention being so focused on him. "Well, you never know what they could do." He shrugged and gave a tentative smile. "Maybe the nurse could work her magic."

It started out as a chuckle, barely there, falling from Arthur's mouth. A few seconds later they were both in full blown hysterics, crying with laughter and shaking from their spot on the ground. Should the joke be repeated to them at any other time they would probably both have stared blankly in response, however, due to the fact that they were both still recovering from shock, it was currently the funniest thing to have ever been said.

They calmed down eventually and Arthur offered him a rather genuine smile, which Merlin hesitantly returned.

The pair of them seemed to have very conveniently forgotten the fact that school property was still aflame, and yet also somehow simultaneously melting. This was a fact which was quickly remedied by Professor Snape's extravagant entrance.

"What on Earth is going on here?!" he bellowed as his cloak billowed behind him, the classroom door slamming not even a moment later.

Merlin felt himself flinch, and there was absolutely nothing he could have done to prevent it. Any smile that had previously been on his face had fallen away, the second he had caught sight of the enraged professor Snape. Himself crouched on the floor with a threatening figure roaring above him was an all too familiar scene, and he felt his unease and incredible dislike of Professor Snape grow exponentially.

Luckily Arthur stepped in before Merlin was forced to answer. "There, erm, there was an accident . . ."

"Yes. I can see that," Snape replied through gritted teeth. "What I'm asking is how? And why exactly you didn't call for assistance the second it happened!" he hissed.

"Well, we, erm . . ." Arthur looked over at him, clearly expecting some sort of help or backup in this situation. Looking for an ally.

"We don't know," Merlin answered softly, lying, and staring at his hands. He couldn't bring himself to look at the Professor. But neither could he look at the boy he had just lied to protect. Merlin had seen Pendragon dosing while they were given instructions, and it did not take much deductive reasoning to realise that he had missed the instruction telling them to clean the cauldron brush between each one so the potions wouldn't mix. But Merlin would not hand him over to Professor Snape's wrath.

"We don't know," he repeated, a little louder, with more confidence. "I heard a fizzing noise, and when I looked up weird-coloured smoke was rising from his cauldron. I had a bad feeling about it so I reacted on instinct and pushed him out of the way, knocking us both to the floor. Then, erm, then that happened," he finished, nodding his head in the direction of the half melted desk.

Snape narrowed his eyes at both boys. Arthur had been nodding emphatically as Merlin spoke. Merlin knew neither of these things, as he had kept - and still kept - his eyes fixed upon his hands.

"Very well," Snape's voice droned. "Mister Emrys, you may go. Mister Pendragon, you will report to Mister Filch for detention for the next week –"

"What?!" Arthur's voice cut in; outraged at the injustice.

"- for vandalising school property. And that's ten points from Gryffindor for interrupting," he finished with a harsh glare at Pendragon. Merlin saw Arthur open his mouth again to protest (probably at the fact that it's hardly vandalism when it was a complete accident), but before he could Snape snapped, "And it'll be double that if you've got anything else to say."

Arthur quickly snapped his jaw shut and levelled a glare at the Professor. He swiped his bag from the floor and stormed out of the room. Merlin saw the satisfied smirk on the Professor's face as he did so. Merlin quickly scrambled to the side as he realised he was placed right in Pendragon's path and he didn't seem like he was going to stop to move around him.

Hurrying, so that he wouldn't have to be left alone with the potion's master, Merlin quickly followed Arthur's lead and moved to get his things. Although, where Arthur had stormed out of the room, Merlin had done more of a scuttle. He took extra care to not once look at the Professor as he left, but he could feel those cold beetle eyes watching him leave.

As soon as he was far enough down the corridor he let out an audible sigh of relief, slumping against the castle wall. He hadn't realised that he had been loud enough to stop Pendragon and make him turn around until there was a shadow approaching him.

* * *

 

Arthur was fuming. He could not believe what a gigantic git Snape was. And he definitely could not believe that he had gotten another week's worth of detention. It wasn't as if he had melted his desk on purpose! It was taking all of his self-control not to punch a wall or throw anything. This was just one more thing that proved he didn't belong in this stupid school!

He hated it here.

At least at his primary school everyone had known who he was, even if he had still struggled at bit in the friends department. Bloody witches and wizards had never even heard the name Pendragon. He was a nobody here. All his life, Arthur had always been able to fall back on that, his father's fame and money, but none of that meant anything here. He had heard people, Slytherins mostly, but some others too, whispering names behind his back. 'Mudblood'. Whatever that meant he hated it.

He hated it here.

He wasn't that great in any of his classes. He had always been the best at Maths in school, and sports, and history, and almost everything. It wasn't like he was rubbish at magic or anything, but he wasn't the best. Arthur hated not being the best, and he was incredibly unaccustomed to it. He hated it.

He hated it here.

He didn't have any friends here. He was always rubbish at making friends, he'd say something he thought was funny or clever and everyone heard it as arrogant or mean. Some of his roommates found him funny but it was a hit or miss kind of situation. He liked them, he wanted to be their friend but he was pretty sure they only tolerated him, and he hated it. He knew he was being an arse to that Hufflepuff kid the other day, but he had just sort of snapped. He hated here and there was nothing and no one to make him feel better.

That was why when he heard Emrys sigh after they had gotten out of detention he didn't just keep walking. He turned around to look at the other boy. He looked stressed and panicked, but ultimately relieved. Arthur hadn't thought Snape's shouting should have affected him this badly.

His first instinct was to turn away. His second instinct was to make fun of him. Arthur decided to go with his third instinct, to go and talk to him. After all, Emrys had kind of saved his life back there.

Squaring his shoulders and putting confidence into his steps, Arthur approached the . . . ~~opportunity/potential friend~~ . . . boy. Emrys was slumped against the wall, breathing rather heavily, with his head in his hands.

"H- Hi," Arthur stuttered, all his confidence suddenly deserting him at the last second. Merlin looked at him with caution, almost fear, present in his eyes. There was no trace lingering of the boy who had sat on the floor and laughed with him. And smile that had been on his face was nowhere to be seen. He swallowed and tried for a charming smile (at least one of them should look even remotely self-assured). "I wanted to thank you, not only for saving me, but for helping when Snape started asking questions," the other boy looked at him rather blankly, "I had no idea what to say to him," Arthur finished with an awkward laugh.

Emrys gave him a small smile, but Arthur could tell it was forced. He almost just cursed and turned away, ready to give up, but he forced himself to see this through.

He shuffled his feet awkwardly. "I, er . . . I also wanted to apologise for yesterday. You were right. I was behaving like an arse."

That got him a real smile. A small one, but he counted it as a victory. Arthur beamed.

"Yeah, you kinda were," he agreed, his smile slowly getting bigger in answer to Arthur's. Arthur offered him a hand up, he saw Merlin hesitate slightly before taking it.

They stared awkwardly at each other for a moment, neither really knowing what to say but neither willing to walk away. Merlin, Arthur noticed, still had a small smile left on his face but was no longer looking at him, and was looking instead at his feet.

Arthur wasn't quite sure what to expect from him, but it wasn't this. Arthur had seen him interact with his friends before, he seemed talkative and friendly, a far cry from the nervous boy in front of him now (and certainly different from the boy who called him out on his action in front of half of the school). _It's you,_ a small part of his brain whispered, _he just doesn't want to be friendly to you_.

 _Just go for it_ , the rest of him said. He cleared his throat, partly out of nerves, partly to get Emrys to look at him again. "Have you, er . . . have you done the Defence homework yet?" he asked. Merlin shook his head. "I was heading to the library to do it, if you – er – if you wanna join me?"

Emrys seemed to be sizing him up; looking at him with slightly narrowed eyes and a look of confusion. He was going to say no. He was going to tell Arthur to shove off and that he didn't want to spend any more time with him than he had to. Arthur braced himself for the rejection.

But slowly, he nodded, "Yeah, alright. Sure." Arthur wasn't sure he even heard him right. He wanted to ask him to repeat but didn't want to look like an idiot or make him reconsider his decision. He didn't know how big the smile on his face was but he was pretty sure he looked dumb.

And that was that.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the library, right up until their evening meal, holed up on a table in the corner. And so what if they got all their work done in the first hour.

They spent the day talking away. Arthur mentioned his family, careful not to try and namedrop his father again after seeing how badly that went over. He instead spoke about his annoying younger sister who wasn't really his sister, Morgana, and briefly mentioned his mother who had died in childbirth. He hated to talk about his mother, he had not a single memory of her and sometimes he hated that he missed something that he never even had. Arthur usually liked to quickly pass over that particular detail of his life, he wasn't a fan of the pity he usually got in return, but it wasn't like that, not this time.

Merlin gave him an understanding smile and nod. "Both my parents died when I was a couple years old," he revealed, fidgeting with his hands as he spoke, "I was raised by my aunt and uncle. It's just not the same." Arthur nodded along, happy to have met someone who got what it was like, not realising how much more there was behind those words.

Arthur was relieved to know someone else who had experienced similar losses to him. Morgana had always sort of gotten it, losing her mother when she was around seven years old and her father a year later. But Arthur had never managed to curve the jealousy he felt at the years she had still gotten with her parents, the years full of memories that he never had with his own mother. He had always hated that part of himself, reminding himself that he still had his father whilst Morgana had no one.

Merlin was clearly trying to steer the conversation away from home after that, and Arthur followed his lead gladly, never happy to dwell on such a topic. And well, Arthur didn't know too much about friends but he was pretty sure that sharing such personal stuff you only did with friends. But Arthur still let the topic slide because maybe, just maybe, he had made a friend.

He instead learned about Merlin's neighbour, who he really saw as more of a younger brother, Harry. It was very clear to Arthur that this Harry-person was a topic that Merlin could talk endlessly about. Arthur was happy to listen, for once. This person was clearly very important to Merlin and Arthur wanted to learn anything he could to secure a friendship with him.

Eventually they moved on to discussing their classes and teachers, obviously ending in them complaining about professor Snape's abhorrent teaching for almost an hour straight. There was lots of laughter and some truly terrible impressions, but by the end of it they were definitely friends. They almost missed their dinner being so caught up with each other. It was only the not-so-gentle pushing of the librarian that got them to dinner on time.

In the end, they parted ways at the entrance to the Great Hall with a smile and a promise to work on the next Defence Against the Dark Arts homework together. And maybe Arthur didn't hate Hogwarts quite as much as he did that morning.

* * *

 

Merlin couldn't quite keep the smile off his face. To think, a little while ago he was worried that he might have made his first enemy hat Hogwarts by standing up to some uppity bully. And now he could safely say, with a fair amount of confidence, that he had made a new friend.

This was so bizarrely new to him. He had managed to luck out and made some friends on the train, but beyond that he hadn't really made many more (other than perhaps Lance). He had never really had the chance to make friends in primary school, always so afraid of what Mordred would report back to Cenred, so Hogwarts was the first place he felt like he could finally relax and be himself. But still, he wasn't exactly popular, he had a few close friends and was on friendly terms with people like his roommates and the Weasleys, but to so easily turn what he was certain to be a hateful relationship into a friendship was utterly mind boggling for him.

And yet, it had just come so easily with them. It was like, once they finally started talking everything had just clicked into place. Almost as easy as breathing. It felt like - and now this wasn't a feeling that Merlin was particularly familiar with - coming home, which didn't quite make any sense, especially since they were still practically strangers. But his magic just felt warm and fuzzy around him. Not his normal magic, but the pit of deep, glowing gold that lay mostly dormant within him, it was happy the longer he spent with Arthur Pendragon.

Merlin wasn't quite sure when he hadn't felt it the first few times they had interacted, but all of sudden his magic was practically vibrating in Arthur's presence. He didn't know why but there was no way he was giving this up.

But how to explain this sudden friendship to his other friends, Gwaine especially?

This really wasn't how he expected his detention to turn out when he left for it earlier that morning. And he definitely hadn't expected to end his day so happily after waking up in the hospital wing. God, just thinking back over the entire mess of the last two days was enough to make him feel exhausted. He really didn't think he had the energy to attempt to explain this all to his incredibly nosy friends.

Perhaps he just . . . wouldn't mention it.

There was nothing wrong with that, right? It was a fairly new friendship, not that much to tell about it. And well . . . maybe he didn't quite trust Gwaine not to scare Arthur off. Gwaine was kind of brash and, well, he wasn't the type to keep negative opinions to himself.

Merlin _liked_ Arthur, and he wasn't quite ready to admit how much he liked him after only spending an afternoon with him. And he really didn't want to risk something ruining this budding friendship.

He wasn't quite sure what it was that made him want to keep him to himself, he knew there was something more than the Gwaine risk. It was the same part of him that made his magic buzz, that told him to treasure the friendship as just theirs while he could.

It was utterly unfounded to be putting so much on this, after such a brief time, but Arthur was special. He could sense it.


End file.
